


Underneath, is there a golden soul?

by myheroiscurly



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Harry is an orphan, Harry is super lovely and warm towards everyone but Louis, I don't want to spoil oops, I will update the tags as the story goes on, M/M, Slow Build, and Louis doesn't understand why, and SMUT, and footie of course, but Harry prefers braiding the girl's hair, but they're both in their twenties now, lots of cute little kids, they work together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-05-27 23:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 46,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6304627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myheroiscurly/pseuds/myheroiscurly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Styles is a fragile young man with an empty heart and sparkling eyes that turn ice cold as soon as they land on Louis, and Louis wants nothing more than for them to thaw. </p>
<p>AU where Louis and Harry work at an orphanage together and Louis hopes that Harry's icy façade towards him is exactly just that - a façade.<br/>Featuring Liam as Louis' puppy eyed roommate and Niall as the captain of the ship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We are joined at the surface but nowhere else

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and therefore isn't true at all. It's all fictional and none of the characters or stories are real. They're in no way associated with the real people that are mentioned.  
> This work is entirely mine and I kindly ask you not to copy, steal, repost or translate it.  
> Title taken from "Opposites" by Biffy Clyro.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, another story because I'm crazy and I can't stop writing these days. I'm very excited for this and I hope you're going to like reading it as much as I like writing it.
> 
> Lots of love,  
> Lily x

"You wanna go like this?" Liam questions around a mouthful of cornflakes, milk dribbling down his chin. Louis winces and throws a napkin at Liam's face, his mouth curling upwards at Liam's cackling laugh.  
"You've got no manners, mate. And yeah, I'm going like this. It's my first day and I need to make a good impression." Louis glances down at himself, taking in his light grey slacks and burgundy pullover.  
"You didn't care about my manners for the last three years we've lived together, don't start this shit now." Liam raises his eyebrows at Louis and swallows another spoonful of cornflakes, this time without spitting them out. "And you're going to an orphanage with tons of little kids running around, they won't care about ironed slacks and Italian leather shoes, Lou. They just wanna play footie with you and have a cuddle."  
"And I can play footie and cuddle while still looking good, right? I just want to make a good first impression, I'm sure I'll be wearing baggy sweats and stained shirts to work in no time." Liam watches Louis fix his fringe in their hallway mirror and grins, shaking his head at his best friend.  
"You're nervous." He states, smiling amusedly around the spoon in his mouth.  
"I am not nervous, Li." Comes Louis' immediate protest, trembling fingers struggling to button his dark grey, woolen coat.  
"Right." Liam nods, completely unimpressed. "You're totally shitting your pants."  
A disbelieving laugh bubbles out of Louis before he plops down onto the chair across from Liam, hiding his face behind his hands.  
"Fuck, I _am_ shitting my pants." He groans, rubbing his fists over his tired eyes. Liam's smile softens, eyes crinkling at the corners as he reaches out to gently squeeze Louis' shoulders.  
"Lou, you'll be fine. You've wanted to work with kids ever since you started studying, this is your dream come true. You've got this, okay?" Louis blinks, panic bubbling in his crystal clear blue eyes.  
"Right," he swallows, nodding once. "I've got this." He sounds hesitant, his nerves still audible in his voice but Liam smiles anyway, shooting him a thumbs-up.  
"That's my boy. Go get 'em, Tommo. I still think you should change into something more comfy..."  
"Good first impression, Liam," Louis interrupts him and Liam fondly rolls his eyes before continuing,  
"... but just do your thing, be your charming self and have fun. This will be great, you'll see."  
"Thanks, Li. You're a star." Louis presses a messy kiss to his best friend's cheek before grabbing his backpack and heading to the door, wrapping a thick scarf around his neck in the process. "If I'm not back home by three the kids probably had me for lunch."  
Liam's laughter rings through the flat, making Louis smile until the door falls shut behind him and the nerves return. He walks down the stairs and to his old, rusty but trusty Ford with shaky steps, his breathing uneven, puffing out in foggy, white clouds.  
"You've got this, Tommo," he tries to give himself a little pep talk as he scratches ice from his car's windshield, cursing London and this stupidly cold winter. Why is this city so cold this year? "You've totally got this."

 

-

 

 

The tall, bright red brick facade of Richard Franklin House glows warmly in the early morning rays, the weak winter sun barely peeking over the edge of the world. Louis parks his old Ford next to an equally old, light blue Toyota and hops out, taking in the large building in front of him. Built in 1823 and named after the founder, a rich but lonely widower who took in poor children from London's street and gave them a home, Richard Franklin House is now one of the most well-known orphanages in South England and is home to about 30 kids of all different ages. It's also Louis' new place of work, and excitement mixes with terrified fear to thrum heavily through his veins.  
He's been here before, when he had his interview, so thankfully he remembers his way around the large estate. With a determined nod he grabs his backpack out of his car and heads up the long, winding gravel road that leads up to the building's main entrance.  
He has no reason to be nervous, Louis knows that. They loved him during the interview, loved his recently finished training as a psychiatrist, his open nature and the fact that he grew up with 6 much younger siblings. Louis knows and loves children, and children usually love him too. No need to be nervous, but new beginnings always have something unpredictable, something vague to them, and Louis doesn't like vague.  
But new beginnings also mean new chances, so despite the wild beating of his heart he pushes open the heavy door and steps into the giant but empty foyer, his polished Italian shoes clacking loudly on the warm, maroon tiles.  
With his head tilted back he takes in the high ceiling of the 19th century manor, spinning in a slow circle and watching the early morning light fall through the tall windows, brightening every corner of the room.  
Louis is so lost in thought that he doesn't even hear the other person in the room approach until she speaks up.  
"Welcome to Franklin's, Sir. What can I do for you?" Louis spins around, startled, and comes face to face with an older woman, her arms full of bedsheets and her name tag identifying her as Barbara. A flush creeps up Louis' neck but he smiles and holds his hand out for her to shake.  
"Hi, I'm Louis Tomlinson. It's my first day here today, so...?" He starts, unsure what to say but Barbara's face lights up in recognition.  
"Oh, you...." She looks Louis up and down, her eyes squinting shut in confusion but a warm smile spreads across her face. "You work here, right. You're Louis. Karen mentioned that. Let me just drop these off," she lifts the bedsheets in her hand before smiling back at Louis, "and I'll show you to her office, yeah?"  
"Wait, let me help you with these," Louis jumps in to offer, taking a stack of sheets from her and wrapping them up him his arms. "I might as well make myself useful. And then we can go to the office." With an appreciative grin Barbara leads him through the hallways, all adorned with floor-to-ceiling windows, pictures of smiling children and paintings evidently drawn my little children littering the walls and giving the long hallways a more personal touch. They don't see anyone on their way to the pantry, but Louis assumes the kids are still asleep since it's only 6:30 in the morning, and the other employees must be busy preparing everything for the day. He dutifully follows Barbara and stacks the bedsheets as instructed, then follows her back downstairs.  
"What made you come to Franklin's?" Barbara asks quietly, her voice curious but friendly and Louis smiles, holding a door open for her.  
"I just finished my training as a psychiatrist and I've always wanted to work with children, so I figured this would be a good start."  
"It is. Franklin's is a wonderful place. I have been working here for 25 years now and there has not been one day where I wasn't excited to go to work," she smiles warmly, her eyes tinted with the memories of the last 25 years and Louis gasps, impressed. 25 years? That's a long time to work somewhere.  
"25 years? That's incredible. You must know every corner of this place then."  
"I do, I know it like the back of my hand. Which is why I know that we've reached Karen's office." Coming to a halt, Barbara points to a door to their left and Louis nods thankfully, squaring his shoulders.  
"She'll probably just talk you through everything again and then send you out. When you're done here, come to the kitchen, it's right up the stairs in the foyer. We'll all be there preparing breakfast, I can introduce you to the others then."

  
Once again, Louis finds himself in the gorgeous foyer, walking up the broad stairs and letting his hand slide up the finely carved hand railing.  
He finds the kitchen without any difficulty, just follows the sound of clattering pots and pans, a laughter coming through the closed doors every now and then.  
When he pushes them open he is met with the expectant stares of four people, and freezes in the doorway. Barbara, bless her, seems to sense his hesitancy and steps forward to wrap one of her meaty arms around Louis' waist, pulling him into the room.  
"Louis! C'mon in, we don't bite. Well, maybe Niall does if he doesn't get fed." A protesting "Oi!" comes from a blond guy currently washing tomatoes in the sink, and he whips around to give Louis a broad grin, his hair wild and blue eyes sparkling with amusement.  
" 'm Niall, good t meet ya, mate!" Nialls loud, enthusiastic and unmistakably Irish voice easily carries across the room and Louis is immediately less nervous, because Niall is a bit like an overly excited puppy and everyone loves puppies, right?  
"Irish? Bet you don't just love food but also a pint or two, then," Louis teases, feeling his nervousness slowly melt away to let his sassy side come out. He's met with a smirk and a raised eyebrow from Niall, and amends, "okay, five pints?"  
That earns him a cackling laugh and a thumbs up, Niall exclaiming "now we're talking, mate!" Grinning, Louis turns to the girl approaching him, who introduces herself as Lou. She looks a bit intimidating at first, all dyed hair and tattooed arms, but she's got a bubbly voice and squeaky laugh so the intimidation quickly falls away.  
He turns to face the last person in the room, a guy around his age that is currently stirring a pot of steaming porridge on the stove. He's tall, Louis notices, dressed in skintight black jeans, holes ripped into each knee, and a black jumper, the fabric worn and hanging over his wrists, covering half of his hands as well.  
"Harry?" Barbara prompts, and the guy - Harry - reluctantly puts the spoon down to look up at Louis.  
When he does, Louis' heart freezes.  
Green. All Louis sees is green, endless, deep green eyes, blinking hazily. Long, thick lashes, softly brushing the tops of rosy cheeks with every blink. Plump lips, so pink and full that Louis' throat goes dry, and a jawline that would cut your fingers like a knife if you were to touch it, Louis is sure.  
_Gorgeous_ , the word keeps flashing through Louis' head, on and off like a broken lightbulb. This Harry is absolutely gorgeous.  
Louis blinks rapidly, trying to shake himself out of his haze just in time to see Harry's eyes widen, feeling them gaze over every inch of Louis' body, from his face over his torso to his legs and back up and it makes him shiver, the intensity of those damn green eyes. Harry bites his bottom lip into his mouth, teeth nibbling on it until it's angry red and shiny, and Louis can't look away from Harry's face, from his bitten lips and wondrous eyes and flushed cheeks. There's something, he's sure. Something awestruck in Harry's gaze, as if he's experiencing the same whirlwind of emotions as Louis is, the same intensity of overwhelming beauty.  
But it's gone in the blink of an eye, Harry's eyes growing distant and dark, the green no longer shining warmly but brooding like a pine forest on a foggy day, distance clouding the brightness that was there before. If Louis is not completely mistaken there's a hint of panic in Harry's eyes. His lips are no longer smiling but pulled straight in a thin line, brows furrowed. He grumbles a rough "Hi" and gives Louis a curt nod before turning back around, gripping the spoon in a tight fist and continuing to stir the porridge.  
And, what? What the hell was that, Louis wonders, completely left in the dark about what just happened. Harry doesn't say anything else and Louis' mumbled "Hello" is drowned out by the sound of plates clattering, and then Barbara is next to him, handing him a rack of cutlery and instructing him to help set the table.

 

His first day goes considerably well. He works with Niall a lot, who is unsurprisingly bright and loud and all the kids love him, no matter their age. He plays guitar and when they all huddle around the sofas in the living room to sing along to whatever song Niall strums, it's one of the most beautiful moments in Louis' life. He looks around the living room, taking in the faces of all the kids, smiling and laughing and singing along happily. They're from all age groups, the youngest being three years and the oldest, Kate, is seventeen. They all accepted him without question, and Louis knows he'll have to do a lot until they trust him like they do with the others, but he's feeling comfortable here, in Franklin's old room with high ceilings and large windows and the chords of Nialls guitar filling the hallways. As he looks around at all the smiling faces, he can't help but wonder why they're here, in the orphanage, left behind and abandoned. It saddens him deeply, and the smile slips from Louis' face slowly. Franklin's a wonderful place, he can tell already, but he doesn't quite know what he would've done without his family, without their shoe carton of a house that was almost too small for him and his six siblings, toys piled up in the hallways, one of his sisters always popping into his room to get her hair braided, his Mum's hearty vegetable soup sitting in the centre of their long dinner table in a large, steaming pot.  
No, he doesn't know what he'd to without his home. And he can only hope that he'll manage to make Franklin's even more of a home for all these kids.

  
Whistling, Louis walks towards the living room, a monopoly game in his hands, when he passes the kitchen and hears his name. He pauses, the whistle dying down, but nobody has called for him, he realises. Instead he peeks through the open door and sees Niall and Harry, both standing in front of the stove with their backs to the door.

"So, H, that Louis guy?" Niall starts, nudging Harry's hip with his own. Harry stiffens, his broad shoulders tightening.  
He's quiet for a moment, and just as Louis thinks he's not going to answer he breathes a distracted, "What about him?"  
"He's kinda hot, yeah?" Niall prompts and Louis can almost see the way he probably rises his eyebrows suggestively. He presses his hand to his lips to muffle his giggle because God, Niall is such a cheeseball.  
"He's totally not." Louis stops giggling immediately, Harry's rough, dismissive voice cutting right through him, a funny pain inside his heart. Niall snorts, knocking his elbow between Harry's ribs.  
"Right, mate, if I were gay I'd be all over that, honestly."  
Harry pauses and turns away to open the fridge, pulling out a carton of milk. He throws Niall an exasperated glance, his profile so frustratingly beautiful that a small sigh pushes past Louis' lips. Of course, he thinks bitterly, of course the beautiful guy doesn't like me back. Just my luck.  
"What are you trying to say, Niall?" Harry questions, sounding agitated and Niall raises his hands in an innocent gesture, shrugging.  
"Nothing, man. Chill out Curly." But Harry is past the point of chilling, it seems, and Louis watches as he whisks the batter in front of him with unnecessary force, long, delicate fingers working smoothly.  
"He's a fucking stuck-up bitch in his stupid ironed pants, who even shows up like that to an orphanage? Ridiculous." Harry growls, and Louis' heart sinks. He winces as if someone had slapped him and steps back, bumping into the bookshelf standing next to the door.  
The pause in their conversation is enough to let Louis know that they heard him, and he mentally curses himself as he quickly bends down to pick up the books that had tumbled down, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment and hurt.  
"That was... I guess that was him. H, that was rude," Niall chastises, and if Louis weren't so focused on the bitterness pumping through his veins from Harry's words he'd be surprised that cheery, sweet Niall can sound so cautionary.  
"I don't care, Niall. I really don't give a flying fuck." Harry's rough words hit home once again and Louis stumbles, stuffing the books back into the shelf and turning on his heels, rushing down the hallway and away from the kitchen, away from Harry and his gorgeous face and hurtful words. Just away.  
"Why are you so sour?" Niall yells in frustration, but before Harry can reply Louis hears footsteps, Niall running after him. A hand lands on Louis' shoulder and he freezes, but the hand is too tiny to be Harry's. He lets Niall turn him around but doesn't meet his eyes.  
"Hey, I'm sorry Louis, he didn't mean it like that." Niall apologises and Louis smiles bravely, hesitantly tipping his face upwards to look at Niall.  
"It's fine Niall. He's kind of right, isn't he?" He looks down at himself, at his stupid ironed pants, and shrugs. "Guess I'll come in baggy sweats and a stained shirt tomorrow after all, maybe he'll be pleased then."  
Niall chuckles, and the sound makes it a bit easier for Louis to smile. "Nah, mate. Leave the sweats at home, we do have our standards. Just jeans and a shirt is fine, we have no dress code. Just do you, yeah?"  
"Right, thanks Niall."

  
"Cmon, Aaron, you've got this. Patty's free!" Louis yells, pointing to a ten year old boy to the left of their little football field. Aaron, a blond boy of the same age, spins around, nearly stumbling over the football in front of his feet, before letting his little foot kick out and shooting the ball. It goes straight past Patrick and into the woods framing the left side of the field.  
Groaning quietly, Louis jogs up to Aaron and pats his back, bending down until he's face to face with the little boy.  
"Heads up, Aaron, it's alright. We need to work on your aim a bit, yeah, but you've got good strength behind your kicks." Aaron beams, nodding and smiling brightly at Louis and Louis can't help but smile back. "Good, little one." He reaches out to ruffle Aaron's hair, patting him on the head once before nodding towards Franklin's behind them, the majestic building rising in the distance. When Louis first got to Franklin's for his interview, he was beyond impressed at just how ample the manors gardens are.  
"Alright lads, how about you head back and change your clothes for lunch, get out of your muddy pants, and I'll see if I can find the ball in that jungle?" With an exaggerated pout he points to the forest and the boys around him giggle, nodding obediently before running towards the house with a chorus of "alright, Lou." Just before they're out of earshot, Louis turns around to yell, "and don't forget to wash your hands!" before facing the forest with a sigh.  
"Here we go."

  
About ten minutes later, Louis emerges from 'the jungle' with branches and leaves stuck to his cashmere jumper and dirt patches on his knees but a triumphant smile on his face and a football in his hands.  
He brushes his fringe out of his eyes and groans when he plucks a leaf out of his hair, wondering just how horrible he must look.  
"Liam was right," Louis grumbles unwillingly to himself as he makes his way back to the house, brushing his free hand over his knees but only smudging the dirt further. "I should have worn something more comfy. Bloody ironed pants."

When he walks into the kitchen to wash his own hands, Niall greets him with an overly loud, "Oi, mate! What attacked you?" and Louis blushes, looking down at himself with a shrugs.  
"Uh, a dangerous, wild bear shot the ball into the forest while we were playing footie and I dived into the jungle to get it back?" he deadpans, sending Aaron a wink, prompting the young boy to giggle into his soda. Niall cackles along with the rest of the kids, Barbara sending him a warm smile as she passes him with a giant pot in her hands.  
When Louis turns towards the table, his eyes land on Harry. He's bent over the table next to Amelie, a six year old girl with long brown hair braided into two artful pigtails.  
"Pink, please," she demands and Harry dutifully hands her a pink pencil, smiling softly at whatever she's drawing.  
"Here you go, princess," he drawls, playfully tugging at one of her braids and she giggles, pushing his hand away from her hair. Her tiny fist looks almost dwarfed compared to his, and something heavy settles inside Louis' stomach.  
Just then Harry looks up from the colouring book in front of him and meets Louis' eyes, the warmth fading from his green orbs. He watches Louis with furrowed brows, raises one eyebrow before looking back down at Amelie and her drawing, but Louis thinks there might have been a surprised, almost pleased glint in Harry's eyes. Though that might have been his imagination. (He hopes its not.)

 

At quarter past three, Louis walks out of Franklin's with Niall babbling happily next to him. They're about to head home since their shift is over, and just before they left Louis met some more of his new coworkers, Dan, Josh and Helene, who all welcomed him to their team with friendly smiles and warm hugs. They're all very nice and it seems as though everyone likes him well enough already, everyone except Harry. But, Louis decides, he's not going to think about Harry right now because he had a great first day and can't wait to get home to change out of his horrible ruined trousers.  
"Anyway, it's great to have you on the team, mate. Think we'll have to go for a pint soon, yeah?"  
"Of course, Nialler, pints are a must. See you tomorrow?"  
"Evening shift?" Niall asks, opening the door of the old Toyota parked next to Louis' Ford.  
"Yep," Louis confirms and Niall grins, nodding contently.  
"Sick, you'll get to eat Harry's incredible dinner creations then. He's a genius," Niall nods wildly to emphasise his point and Louis' heart sinks. Because of course Harry can cook, which only makes him more attractive. And of course he doesn't like Louis. Typical.  
Noticing Louis' dejected stare Niall claps him on the shoulder and gives him an encouraging smile.  
"Don't worry, he'll come around. Don't know what got into him, he's normally not such a grumpy gus, but I'm sure you two will get along splendidly soon enough."  
"Yeah, I hope so too." Louis agrees quietly, waving at Niall before getting into his car. He cranks up the heat as high as it'll go, the old motor protesting loudly. Cursing, Louis digs around in his glove compartment until he finds his gloves and pulls them over his ice cold fingers.  
"Bloody cold wintery London," he curses, his breath coming out in puffy clouds. It takes a while, but eventually his old but trusty car has warmed up enough for him to stop shaking, so he backs out of the parking lot and drives down the long and winding alley that leads away from Franklin's.  
Just as he drives through the iron gate separating Franklin's grounds from the neighbouring properties, he spots a dark figure leaning against one of the pillars. It's Harry.  
His hands are stuffed into the pockets of his long black coat, his shoulders looking extra broad in the dark fabric. Pale skin and piercing green eyes contrast strikingly with his all black attire, piercing green eyes that watch him with hooded lids, smoke from the cigarette tucked between his lips smudging his handsome face.  
He sends Louis a curt nod, more smoke puffing out between plump, rosy lips and Louis' foot slips on the gas pedal, the car shooting forward.  
"Fucking hell," Louis groans, cursing green eyes and handsome broad shoulders and Harry Styles. Nobody should look that unfairly good while smoking yet there Harry is, looking like a Greek good with marble skin and chiselled features, thrown into grey London just to torture Louis. Images fill his mind, images of long, slender fingers holding cigarettes, smoke blown out between full, pink lips, the glimmer of the lighter sparkling warmly in green eyes.  
It's a miracle that Louis manages not to crash the car on the way home.

  
Liam comes home an hour after Louis, wearing his all white doctor's assistant uniform. He's a striking contrast to Harry, Louis realises, with his dark black clothes and cold eyes.  
And then he realises he should stop thinking about Harry, so he greets Liam with a hug and a beaming smile.  
"Seems like your day went well, hm?" Liam grins, ruffling Louis' hair before slipping into the bathroom to have a shower and change into sweats. He walks back into the living room with two beers in his hands and Louis accepts his gratefully, making space for Liam on their tiny sofa.  
"So, the trousers weren't a good idea were they?" Liam starts with a smirk and, seeing Louis' baffled glance, he adds, "I found them in the laundry basket. Mate, they're ruined!" He laughs, sounding way too smug but Louis doesn't have it in him to be mad at Liam. Instead he just takes a long sip of his beer and groans, letting his head drop back against the couch in defeat.  
"I know! And they're my best pair, too. Fucking jungle."  
"Jungle?" And so they end up ordering pizza and sit on the sofa for hours while Louis tells Liam everything about his day, about Niall and Barbara and Aaron and all the other kids, about Franklin's beautiful foyer and endless gardens and tall windows.  
He doesn't, however, tell Liam about Harry. Because for whatever reason, Harry is not something he wants to share just yet.

  
-

 

The next day, Louis is much less nervous when he parks his car in front of Franklin's impressive façade. He knows what to expect and he knows who to expect, and the only thing making his blood pump just a little bit faster through his veins is knowing that Harry has the evening shift with him and Niall. A part, a tiny part of Louis hopes that Harry just had a bad day yesterday. That he'll magically like Louis and be as nice and open as all the others.  
The much bigger part of Louis, however, only laughs at that, a bitter, pained laugh. Because it seems as though Harry doesn't even want to like him, as though just looking at Louis puts him in a bad mood.  
It's confusing and annoying and Louis really doesn't need Harry's grumpy/gorgeous face again today but he doesn't have a chance, does he?  
His mood lifts considerably when he sees Niall getting out of his blue Toyota just as Louis parks next to him, already grinning and waving wildly. Louis hops out of his own car and walks over to Niall, slapping his hand against Niall's outstretched one.  
"Welcome back, mate! I see ya left the fancy pants at home, yeah?" Niall grins, his bubbly happiness absolutely infectious so Louis finds himself chuckling in return, looking down at himself. He's swapped his polished shoes for his good old vans, his typical black skinnies clinging to his legs and a cozy, slightly oversized maroon sweater warming his upper body and protecting it against the icy rain falling from thick, smudgy clouds.  
"Uh, yeah. Figured yesterday's attire was a bit too much, this is more like myself. Can't keep looking like a stuck-up bitch, can I?" Louis repeats Harry's words from yesterday and forces himself to laugh, a short, slightly pained sound exhaled into the frosty air.  
"That was mean of him, but you look much better like this anyway. And you won't have any problems fighting the jungle today." Winking, Niall slings one of his arms over Louis' shoulders and leads him towards the building, chatting happily about what he did yesterday after work.  
About halfway to the house, Louis hears a third pair of shoes scrunching on the gravel, long, wide steps quickly carrying the person closer to them. It's as if Louis can almost sense who it is, can sense the slight shift in the air, the electricity that makes the hair stand up on his neck and sends shivers down his spine. A second later, Harry strides past them with powerful steps and Louis' eyes immediately fall to his hands, long, gracefully pale fingers tucking a pack of cigarettes into the pocket of Harry's dark coat.  
"Hey, Harold!" Niall yells, oblivious to the way Louis nearly stumbles at the sight of Harry's face when he looks back at them, green eyes shining so brightly amidst the grey, smudgy London air, his skin almost as translucent as the icy raindrops falling around them but cheeks flushed rosy against the cold.  
"Hi, Niall." And then Harry turns back around, keeps walking towards the house without so much as looking at Louis, without acknowledging him and the greeting dies down in Louis' throat, a deep sigh coming out instead.  
Niall, bless him, just squeezes his shoulders and looks at Harry's back, a frown furrowing his brows.  
"I don't know what's gotten into him mate, he's normally not like that." Louis just shrugs, desperately hoping to appear uninterested, like he didn't long to feel the gaze of those green orbs on him or see plump pink lips form his name.  
"Whatever. Maybe he just doesn't like me," Louis swallows thickly and pulls the door shut behind him, the warmth of Franklin's foyer wrapping around them like a soothing blanket. With stiff, frozen fingers he peels off his coat and hangs it on the rack next to Niall's, ignoring the long, black one hanging further towards the end of the rack. It looks inviting, warm, and Louis desperately wants to reach out, to touch and feel the remainder of Harry's warmth lingering on the fabric, just once, because Harry himself is so cold towards him.  
"He doesn't just not like people. Sure, with his history it always takes him a while to warm up to new faces but he's never that rude." Before Louis can ask what Niall means, what history Harry has, the blond man takes off towards the kitchen and Louis follows dutifully, seeing Josh and Dan just packing up their stuff, chatting amiably with Harry.  
A surge of jealousy runs through Louis as he watches them interact, Josh pointing to something on his phone and Harry laughing, throwing his head back to reveal the long column of his throat, chocolate curls flying wildly.  
Fine, Louis thinks sourly, apparently Harry can laugh and joke around with everyone but me. What do I care.  
Huffing, he turns around in the doorway and announces, "I'm gonna go help with homework, see you later Niall," pointedly not looking in Harry's direction before stomping down the hallway and into the living room, missing the way Harry's eyes linger on the now empty doorway.

 

After helping the kids with their homework, watching two Disney movies - he absolutely did not sing along to every song in Frozen, no way - and teaching some of the older boys a few of his footie tricks in the garden, Louis slumps into his seat at the large kitchen table and gratefully accepts the steaming bowl of thick, creamy chicken soup Niall hands him along with a fluffy slice of bread. He smiles at Niall before digging in, the hot food warming his frozen body from within. Louis hums in delight, dipping the bread into the soup and chewing enthusiastically, making Niall chuckle next to him.  
"So, Louis, how are you liking Harry's creation, hm?" Louis' hand freezes with the spoon halfway to his mouth because right, he remembers Niall mentioning that Harry likes to cook most of the dinners at Franklin's whenever he's in. And he knows Niall only means it well and wants to prompt a conversation between them, but when Louis hesitantly looks over to where Harry is sitting across from him he realises Harry is just as frozen, his brooding gaze set on the bowl in front of him and Louis' heart sinks. The soup, however, is absolutely delicious and even though Harry doesn't seem to like him, Louis vows that he'll still be friendly with his co-worker, even if it's just because they'll have to see each other quite often. He doesn't know what Harry's problem is, but Louis definitely doesn't have a problem with Harry so he decides to just try and be friendly in the hopes that Harry will eventually warm up to him.  
"It's fantastic, Harry," he compliments honestly, sending Harry a small but hopeful smile across the table. Harry just blinks once, twice, long lashes sweeping gracefully across his cheeks, eyes cold and emotionless before he picks up his spoon and continues eating without saying a word to Louis, without so much as reacting in any kind of way.  
"Okay then," Louis breathes quietly, disappointment surging through him as he, too, refocuses on his food, the warmth of the soup suddenly overwhelmingly burning. He didn't think anyone heard him over the noise of the kids in the room but Niall gently claps him on the shoulder, whispering, "he'll come 'round eventually."  
Somehow, as Louis looks over to Harry chatting warmly with Barbara, eyes sparkling brightly as he listens intently to whatever she has to say, Louis can't share Niall's optimism.

 

-

 

  
"Lou, what's all this?" Liam mumbles in surprised, fatigue etched onto his face in small lines and shining from his eyes. He gestures towards the two large pizzas and bottle of red wine sitting on their couch table, Louis smiling at him and taking his backpack from him.  
"We've both been so busy with work lately that we haven't had a proper boy's night in forever, and that's simply not right. So, get changed," Louis flutters his hand over Liam's white work uniform while unpacking Liam's lunchbox, "and have a shower. I'll be waiting on the sofa, then we can get tipsy, eat too much pizza, watch bad movies and talk about the meaning of life." Liam grins, because that's exactly what they used to do almost every weekend, before Liam got his job at the hospital and Louis started working at Franklin's. Their schedules rarely match up now and Louis simply cannot let his best friend slip through his fingers just because work, not happening.  
"You're a star, Lou." Liam leans over to press a kiss to Louis temple before heading towards the bathroom, whistling the melody to Frozen.  
Fifteen minutes later they're cuddled up under a blanket, both of them with a box of pizza on their laps and a glass of red wine in their hands, giggling loudly.  
"So, Li, fill me in. We haven't talked for far too long, what's going on?" Liam sobers, the smile slowly slipping from his face and Louis gently nudged Liam's shoulder with his, encouraging him to go on.  
"Well... Things aren't that great between Soph and me and the moment." Louis freezes, the sadness in Liam's voice making his blood pump faster because fuck, no. Liam and Sophia have been together for almost 6 years, and they've always been Louis' relationship models. They're perfect for each other, everyone knows that. And, what kind of friend is he to not notice that his best friend has love troubles? Guilt floods through Louis' veins and he puts his glass down to cuddle closer to Liam, the pizza long forgotten.  
"What's going on?"  
"Well," Liam starts, gloomily staring into his glass, watching the red liquid slosh around. "She got an offer from a dance school, it's a really great opportunity for her. Very popular, fancy place. They've got a one year class that they're offering her, it's such a good chance for her." Louis nods, frowning because he doesn't quite see the problem just yet.  
"And?" he presses gently, watching as Liam shudders and nearly drops his glass.  
"The school is in Chicago." A long gush of air leaves Louis' lips, Liam deflating next to him as if all the energy left his body along with these five words.  
"Well, fuck." he blurts eloquently and Liam laughs wetly, taking a large sip of wine.  
"Yeah." he agrees quietly, desperate eyes begging Louis for help, for advice.  
"And she wants to go?" Louis asks carefully, not quite sure where Liam and Sophia stand in this situation. Liam shakes his head, then nods, and it's such an adorably lost gesture that a small smile fights his way back onto Louis' face.  
"She'd love to go, but she also doesn't want to leave me. I want her to go, because it's such a great opportunity for her, and at the same time I want her to stay with me. Because Chicago is so far away and I probably won't get to see her at all during that year, and I'm terrified that it'll be the end of our relationship." Liam panics, his hands starting to shake and Louis is quick to pluck the glass of wine out of his hand before Liam can drop it. "What if she meets a fancy American dancer and decides that her boring boyfriend isn't fun enough anymore? What if..." Louis gently puts his hand over Liam's mouth, effectively shutting him up.  
"Liam, no. That's rubbish, and you know it. If Sophia meets a fancy American dancer, she'll say," Louis sits up straighter, running his hand through his hair like Sophia always does and pushing his voice up an octave, "'sorry sir, but I have a wonderful, brilliant boyfriend at home who I love very much, so take your smelly dancer feet away from me.'" Liam giggles at that and Louis cuddles into him again, staring up at his best friend with serious eyes.  
"Seriously, Li. If there's any couple out there that will make it through a year apart, it's you two. You belong together, you're absolute 'relationship goals', that's the term Lottie taught me, I think, and I am 100 percent sure that you'll make it through this. Let her take her chances, and be there for her when she comes back. I have so much faith in your relationship, and you should too." Blinking, Liam suppresses a few tears, Louis can tell by the way he takes a deep breath and squeezes his eyes shut.  
"Yeah," he says on a long exhale, opening his eyes again to shoot Louis a grateful look. "You're right, I shouldn't be doubting us like this. Thanks, Lou. As silly as it sounds, I missed you these last couple of weeks. You and your failed cooking attempts and smelly socks lying around in the living room." Cackling, Louis throws himself into Liam's arms, mumbling an "I missed you too" into his best friend's chest.  
"What about you, Tommo? Who's bothering you?" Liam questions, his voice smug, and of course he can't fool Liam, why did he ever think he could? They've been best mates since primary school. Sighing, Louis pulls away and runs a hand over his face, groaning in frustration just at the thought of Harry and his damn cold eyes.  
Liam, seeing Louis' face, wordlessly refills both of their glasses and hands one to Louis before taking a sip.  
"Buying red wine for tonight was the best idea I ever had," Louis grins weakly before gulping down half of his wine, because if he's gonna make it through the mess that is his situation with Harry, he definitely needs alcohol.  
"Let's have a love talk. Just like when we were 16 and you were crushing on Stan and I was crushing on Danielle!" Liam grins enthusiastically, and despite the mess in his head Louis laughs, remembering how silly they used to be back then. Liam, with his wild curls that made his head look like a broccoli, and Louis with his obsession with Toms and braces. "Remember when Danielle came over to ask us about homework and you ran away to hide in the loo?" Cackling, Liam throws his head back against the sofa, flushed bright red in embarrassment at his younger self.  
"Not one of my brightest moments," he admits, still giggling, and they sit in companionable silence for a while, sipping their wine and getting lost in childhood memories.  
"His name is Harry." Louis speaks up eventually, his voice quiet and flat. Saying Harry's name out loud makes his entire body tingle, he just wishes he had more positive things to say about their situation.  
"And, what about this Harry?"  
"He's fucking beautiful." Louis blurts, blushing madly and Liam laughs, shaking his head at Louis' blunt statement.  
"Why am I only hearing about him now, Tomlinson? You've been there a few weeks." Liam teases, nudging his elbow into Louis' ribs and a breathless laugh pushes past Louis' lips. His gaze falls to the wine in his glass as he replies with a small,  
"Because he doesn't like me, Li."  
"Bullshit, it's impossible to not like you," Liam fires back, and the quickness of it would usually make Louis smile but today, he just snorts in frustration, shrugging.  
"It's possible for Harry, obviously."  
And so Louis tells Liam everything. They make it through the entire bottle of wine while Louis describes how warm Harry is around the kids and how friendly he is with the rest of the staff but as soon as Louis enters the room he freezes, his eyes turning cold and distant instead of sparkly and warm.  
"He seems to like everyone just fine expect for me, it's like he doesn't even want to like me! And I don't know what I did, Li, I'm just so frustrated." Louis buries his head in the fabric of Liam's jumper and grumbles, "why can't he just like me back? Fucking gorgeous boy messing with my head."  
"Are you sure you're reading him correctly? Maybe he's just shy or intimidated?" Liam suggests, but it's a weak explanation and they both know it.  
"Liam, I've been there for three weeks! Three bloody weeks and he's never spoken to me, not a single word! Not even when I ran into him in the laundry room and we were literally the only two people in there!"

* **flashback** *  
"Louis, love, would you mind bringing these to the laundry room?" Barbara asks, smiling hopefully with a stack of fresh towels in her arms. "You know how much I hate the stairs."  
"Yeah, sure, no problem Babs," Louis immediately agrees, knowing full well that the older woman's knees are giving her troubles these days. He takes the towels and heads upstairs, endlessly grateful that he finally knows his way around Franklin's never-ending hallways so he reaches the laundry room in no time at all.  
When he arrives the door is open and Louis' heart plummets into his stomach when he sees Harry standing there, counting the towels with a displeased frown on his face. Louis freezes in the doorway before taking a deep breath and putting on a small smile.  
"I, uh, I guess I've got the towels you're missing," he announces and doesn't recognise his own voice. It's airy, soft, wavering like a leaf in the breeze and his breath hitches audibly when Harry spins around, eyes turning stormy as soon as they land on Louis. Harry stares at him for a moment, not a single muscle in his long, endless body moving, and then he steps back into the room with a single sharp nod, making space for Louis to come in.  
He does, with tiny, hesitant steps because even though Harry stepped back the room still seems to be so full of him, crowded with Harry's towering presence, broad shoulders tense as he stands across from Louis with his arms crossed over his chest, biceps bulging deliciously under his black jumper. Harry is like the calm before the storm, brooding quietly, sending dark glances at Louis and Louis isn't quite sure what he's going to do when Harry finally explodes.  
Swallowing harshly he pushes himself up onto his tip toes, every cell in his body aware of Harry's presence behind him, the hair on his neck standing up straight as he stretches.  
The thing is, the towels belong on the highest rack of the shelve in front of him and no matter how much he stretches, he can't quite reach it.  
A deep sigh comes from behind him and suddenly there's warmth next to him, the warmth of another body. Startled, Louis nearly jumps out of his skin when Harry steps up next to him, the heat from his body seeping into Louis' own. He hold his hand out, the same long fingers that Louis notices every time, and gently, almost nervously takes the towels from him to put them on the top shelf without any trouble.  
Louis huffs in frustration, being small is a curse that will haunt him for the rest of his life, but attempts a grateful smile that he sends Harry's way.  
"Thank you." The words are breathed into the slightly dusty air between them and at first Louis isn't sure if Harry heard him, because he doesn't react at all. But then there's a tiny nod, a tiny little acknowledgement that has Louis' heart flutter stupidly, until Harry abruptly stalks out of the door, a flash of panic in his eyes that leaves Louis in utter confusion.  
Is it really that horrible to be in a room with me?, he thinks bitterly, anger momentarily overpowering the disappointment he feels at yet another rejection from Harry. He can't even stand to be around me for a minute, does he really hate me that much? And it's that thought that has Louis sprinting out of the room after Harry, seeing Harry's tall body hurry through the hallway, away from him and, no, Louis won't take it this time.  
"Harry!" he yells, and he realises then that it's the first time he ever addressed Harry with his name. The word feels odd on his tongue, too familiar already even though he's only spoken the name a handful of times. "Wait!" Louis can't quite believe it when Harry actually stops walking, his steps slowing before he comes to a standstill. After a moment's hesitation he turns around but he doesn't face Louis, his eyes focused on the windows to his left. Harry doesn't react in any other way, just pointedly looks away from Louis as he waits for him to speak up, and Louis tries not to be too discouraged. At least Harry is listening.  
"Why are you so mean to me, Harry? What have I done?" He can't help the pleading tone in his voice because he's desperate for an explanation, for a reason why Harry is so cold to him, treats him like he's air, like he's less than air. He openly stares into Harry's eyes, trying to read what's going on behind the endless depths of green but Harry's eyes are no open books, they're brick walls, not giving anything away and shutting Louis out. Harry stares back for a while, not saying anything, just stares and stares and stares in the same eerily cold way he always does, strangely detached from the world and Louis stops breathing.  
Then, just as he begins to hope that maybe he's got Harry this time, that Harry will finally speak to him, Harry just shakes his head at him, almost desperate frustration flashing across his face before he turns on his heels and heads down the hallway with long, graceful steps, as if he can't get away from Louis fast enough.  
* **end of flashback** *

"That's odd." Liam states helpfully and Louis groans, banging his head against the armrest of the couch.  
"It's fucking frustrating, that's what it is." Liam reaches out and tangles his hand into Louis' hair, pulling him away from the armrest and into a tight hug.  
"Just keep trying? He must be blind to miss how wonderful you are. I'm sure there is a reason for this, keep trying to talk to him. Show him that you're a brilliant guy, that you mean no harm. Let him warm up to you slowly." Liam suggests and Louis nods against his best friend's chest, sighing heavily.  
"It's not like I can stay away from him, anyway."

 

-

 

Louis loves Franklin's, he truly does. He loves the children and the place, loves the feeling he gets when they're all sitting on the large sofas with bowls of microwave popcorn sitting on their laps, watching Disney movies. It feels a lot like home, the giant manor, and Louis loves going there every day more.  
But at the same time he loses hope with every day that passes, hope that Harry will ever warm up to him. He's been at Franklin's a month and Harry's still yet to speak a single word to Louis.  
Sighing, Louis grabs a blue pencil and continues colouring Ariel, Anne and Marie sitting next to him working on a drawing of Pocahontas, excited smiles on their faces.  
Staring out of the window, he watches Oliver sitting on porch by himself, a quiet, almost reclusive boy with black hair. He sits by himself most of the time, won't let any of the Franklin's staff near him, and Louis has been a part of many meetings discussing ways to get him to open up.  
A shadow falls over Oliver and Louis sits up straighter in his chair, his interest piqued.  
Sure enough, a tall figure wrapped up in a black coat sinks down on the porch next to him, Harry's long curls falling gently over the broad expanse of his shoulders.  
Louis can barely see their faces, but it seems as if they don't talk at first, just sit in companionable silence, observing the gardens sleeping underneath a layer of frost.  
Eventually, Harry speaks up, lips moving slowly to form whatever words he is saying and Louis finds himself watching as if in trance, observing Harry's plump lips shaping words, his piercing green eyes taking in their surroundings as he stares ahead. It's intoxicating, almost, watching Harry speak, and Louis realises that he really, really needs to stop this obsession he has with Harry. It's clearly not mutual.  
Whatever Harry is saying seems to have a proper effect on Oliver, because the young boy nods thoughtfully, brows furrowed in a way that is so like the frown Harry always wears whenever Louis is around, before leaning his head against Harry's shoulder. Harry carefully wraps his arm around the boys shoulders, pulling him slightly closer as they both stare ahead again, lost in their own thoughts but at least not alone.  
Swallowing harshly, Louis unwillingly tears his eyes away from the scene on the porch and looks up just in time for Anna to hold her finished drawing into his face.  
"Look, Lou! Do you like it?" Smiling, Louis takes in a Pocahontas with purple hair and a light blue dress.  
"It's beautiful, princess." And if his voice sounds gruff with emotion, well, nobody has to know why.

 

-

 

Thankfully London is slightly more mild in the next week, the endless frost thawing and making it possible to play footie again, and of course none of the boys hesitate for a second until they head outside into the garden.  
That's how Louis finds himself surrounded by a bunch of eight to fourteen year olds running after the ball with no coordination whatsoever, but Louis finds he doesn't mind at all.  
In fact, it's fun to just abandon all rules and kick around, and soon enough Josh and Dan join their group. Only Harry is sitting on the porch with a few girls, watching them play and no, it absolutely doesn't make Louis' heart flutter. No.  
He's not even going to believe that Harry is out here because of him, that's just plain impossible but still his skin is covered in goosebumps, because just the thought of him being in Harry's sights is enough to drive Louis a little mad.

"Hey, Aaron!" Louis yells, gently kicking the ball towards the blond boy who made him run through the forest when they first played. Aaron, still a bit uncoordinated on his legs, manages to catch the ball with his foot and neatly shoots it into the goal, right past Josh's not completely outstretched arm.  
Grinning, Louis runs up to the little boy and picks him up, sitting him down on top of his shoulders as Aaron starts grinning widely.  
"And that, boys, is how it's done. Well done, little lad." He grins up at Aaron, his sight blocked by the black Adidas SnapBack sitting on his head.  
They slowly trudge back towards the house, knowing that they have lunch to put on soon, but Louis doesn't follow the other boys inside right away. Instead he sits down on the porch a few feet away from where the girls are still sitting, making bracelets, Aaron sitting down next to him with his proud grin still on his face.  
"Thank you, Lou," he starts, his grin falling a little bit as he stares down at his feet, blue eyes suddenly sad. Alarmed, Louis nudges the boy's shoulder with his and tilts his chin up with a gentle finger.  
"What for, Tiger?" Aaron shrugs, seeming embarrassed for a second before he speaks up again.  
"Before you came, the other boys always made fun of me because I'm not good at footie. They said I'm not a proper boy if I can't play footie." Snorting, Louis shakes his head at Aaron because he's honestly appalled, why would the others say something like that?  
"That's rubbish, Aaron," he assures the boy, gently running his fingers through Aaron's wild mane of blond hair. "You don't have to play footie to be a proper boy, you know? You can do whatever you like and you're still a proper boy, I know a lot of boys who even dance ballet and they're still proper boys."  
"Yeah?" Aaron's big, blue eyes blink up at him with a hopeful glimmer in them and Louis feels anger bubbling inside his veins, because who are they to make the little boy so insecure? Idiots, he thinks grimly, but manages a reassuring smile.  
"For sure. Actually, you know what? You're not just a proper boy, you're a lad. Sounds good?" An idea comes to his mind, and before Aaron can reply, Louis takes off his SnapBack and puts it on Aaron's head. It's too big on him, falling into his face, but the look of delighted surprise on the boy's face tells Louis that he doesn't mind at all.  
"I think you should have this, little lad." Louis announces, his voice slightly gruff with emotion swelling up inside him as he thinks back to when he first got the SnapBack.  
"Really?" Aaron gasps, taking the hat off to twist it in his hands, looking at it from all angles with wide eyes.  
"Definitely," Louis agrees easily, nodding at the boy, "you know, I first got this when I was about your age, so it's quite old. It was after my first footie game, and I even scored a goal, I was so proud. And then my grandpa came up to me and gave me this SnapBack. Money was tight for my family and Adidas is offensively expensive, but he knew that all of my friends had one and I wanted one too, so he got it for me. And he put it on my head and said, 'you're a special boy, Louis. I'm giving you this because I know you want to fit in, but don't ever forget that you're not like everyone else. You're special.'" He smiles weakly, images of his grandpa',s smile flashing through his mind. It was a wonderful moment, one that he thinks back to often, whenever he feels insecure. He just thinks back to his grandpa and is reminded that he's special, and it gets him through every difficult situation. Clearing his throat to get rid of the lump forming in there Louis gently pats Aaron on the back and nods towards the SnapBack. "You're special too, even if you're not good at footie. You're special, so I think you should have this."  
Aaron doesn't reply, just wraps his tiny arms around Louis' middle and presses his face against Louis' chest, tiny little tears dampening the fabric of Louis' jumper. Louis thinks he can understand why, because Aaron doesn't get to hear that he's special very often. He doesn't have his parents anymore, doesn't have a family, and Franklin's is doing a great job but sometimes Louis wonders if what they're doing is enough for the children here. If they're giving them all they need. Louis hopes that, by giving him this little piece of himself, he showed Aaron how important and special he is.  
With a sigh that nearly comes out as a shaky sob, Louis pulls the little boy closer and stares ahead into the garden, his mind racing.  
A sound coming from their left pulls him out of his thoughts, and Louis looks up to see all the girls disappearing into the house, chatting brightly. Only Harry, Harry lingers for a second, looking down at Louis and Aaron with an unreadable expression in his eyes. They're just as distant as always, but this time, the green isn't frozen, it's not cold. There's an appreciative glint in them and a hint of surprise, but he can't read much more because Harry averts his eyes almost as soon as they meet Louis'. He turns around to follow the girls into the house without saying a word, but if Louis isn't completely mistaken there's a tiny smile curling up the corners of his mouth, and it makes Louis' heart skip a beat.

 

-

 

"Oi, Louis!" An unmistakably Irish voice yells, somehow managing to be heard over the noise of the crowded pub, and Louis turns to his left to see Niall, Josh and a few other guys he doesn't know sit at a table, all of them with a fresh pint sitting in front of them. He shoots Niall a thumbs up, signalling that he saw them, before heading towards the bar and ordering a pint for himself. He sits down between Niall and a guy who introduces himself as Sandy, Josh's roommate. There's also Jon, one of Niall's friends from Uni, and Ed, a ginger with too many tattoos on his arms but a warm smile on his face. As he looks around the table, taking in the new faces and the familiar ones, Louis doesn't quite know if he's relieved that Harry isn't there, or disappointed.

As if being able to read his thoughts, Niall leans over to him to whisper-shout into his ear, "Harry's got a late shift today so he can't come." Louis shrugs, attempting to appear uninterested but Niall sees right through him, patting him on the shoulder, beer sloshing over the rim of Louis' glass at the sudden movement.  
"Don't worry about 'im, Lou. Y'know, Franklin's is really important to him. It's all he ever had in his life so he's not too happy when changes are made there. He'll get used to it, trust me." Louis just nods, desperately hoping that Harry will eventually get used to him and stop being so cold towards him, when Nialls words fully sink in.  
"Wait. Harry lived at Franklin's?" He gasps, beer going down the wrong way when Niall nods, horror filling Louis' veins as he coughs for his dear life. Once he's calmed down, he yells a breathless, "what?", taking in the surprise on Niall's face.  
"Yeah, I thought you knew, everyone kind of does. He lived there since he was four, I think. Moved out when he was 18, got a job and went to Uni, he's in his last year for psychology." Louis just sits there for a moment, baffled to silence, his mind racing to process this piece of information and suddenly it all makes sense, the look on Harry's face after he heard Louis talk to Aaron. The appreciation, the understanding. Harry understood, because he knew exactly how Aaron felt. And the thought somehow makes Louis' heart feel heavier.  
"That's awful," he whispers more to himself, sloshing the beer around in his glass without actually drinking it, just staring down into the amber liquid foaming in the glass.  
"It is," Niall agrees quietly, "but he's doing pretty well. Franklin's is his home, though, I guess it takes a while for him to accept someone new into it."  
"It's been more than a month and he still hasn't said a word to me, Niall." Louis dismisses distractedly, his mind still swirling around the fact that Harry's an orphan, he lived at Franklin's.  
"He still doesn't speak to you?" Niall gasps, taking a large gulp of beer as if he needs to wash that piece of information down with it. Louis just nods, frustration and anger and sadness combining inside of him because he still doesn't understand, doesn't know why Harry sometimes won't even look at him, will leave the room as soon as Louis enters.  
"You know, when you first arrived at Franklin's, I thought..." Niall starts thoughtfully but trails off, the words getting lost in the noise of the pub but Louis hears them.  
"You thought what?"  
"Never mind. I was wrong, apparently, so it doesn't matter. Drink up, mate, this is supposed to be a fun night." So Louis grabs his glass and clinks it against Niall's and drinks, even though he doesn't feel like drinking at all, not anymore. The guys are all nice and the beer is good, even the music is surprisingly acceptable and really, it should be a fun night, but it's not. Not when Louis' thoughts keep returning to Franklin's, to loneliness and being special and Aaron and Harry, always Harry. So it's barely eleven who Louis downs the rest of his pint and announces that he's going to leave, mumbling some apology about his stomach suddenly bothering him. The others don't question it, too tipsy to fully get what Louis is saying, but Niall waves enthusiastically and Louis can't help but pull him into a quick hug, because Niall is Irish and looks like a cute puppy when drunk and everyone loves Niall, right?

Icy air hits him as soon as he exits the pub and Louis pulls the neck of his coat higher, wrapping the worn fabric tighter around his body to fight off the cold. He hurries to the bus station and hops onto the 25, swiping his Oyster card and sitting down in the nearly empty vehicle. The bus jolts gently, brakes screeching as it takes Louis and a handful of other people through sleepy, empty London, the wind howling through now abandoned streets.  
And as he stares out of the window, staring at a city that is normally buzzing with life but now seems almost forlorn, he imagines a little curly boy with big, green eyes sitting on the swings on the hill at Franklin's and sleeping in one of the beds he makes every morning, sitting at the kitchen table having lunch or doing his homework with his bottom lip tugged between his teeth as he focuses, and Louis' heart fills with so much sorrow that he's afraid the tears will start falling like the rain against the window to his right.

 

-

 

It's hard to focus on French homework when Harry is in the room. Truth be told, it's hard for Louis to focus on anything when Harry is in the room, because all he wants to do is stare stare stare, stare at bright green eyes and long, pale fingers and plump pink lips and chocolate curls and the way his eyelashes sweep across his cheeks when he blinks, but no, he's totally focused on Sophie's French homework. Totally.

Except for when he looks up and finds Harry with Dana on his lap, a 7 year old girl with long, honey-blonde hair that Harry currently braids into an artful Dutch braid. He's so gentle with her, bouncing her on his knees to make her giggle, long, pale fingers gently weaving through her hair to untangle the strands before he braids them, carefully tucking strand under strand as to not pull too hard and hurt her. It makes Louis' chest ache, the way Harry smiles down at her with a spark in his eyes and she trustingly grins up at him, placing a smacking kiss on his cheek. Harry is so warm, so gentle and caring with all the kids and it makes warmth flood through Louis' chest, makes his body tingle from within because Harry is so, so lovely, so delicate and soft despite his broad shoulders and endless legs, but he's so cold towards Louis. And Louis just doesn't understand.  
"Louis? Is it _je lis un livre_ or _je lit_? With s or t?" Sophie asks, tugging at the sleeve of Louis' jumper to get his attention when he can't quite tear his eyes away from Harry. Harry's head snaps up at the mention of Louis' name, and he looks up to find Louis' eyes still on him. Louis freezes, his breath hitching in his throat because Harry's eyes will turn cold and he'll look away as if Louis is too disgusting to even look at, and... except this time, he doesn't. Harry's eyes lose their sparkle, yes, but they turn hesitant rather than cold, as if Harry can't quite decide on the emotion he wants them to portray. He doesn't smile when Louis sends him a nervous grin, but he doesn't look away either, just seems to take a deep breath before focusing on Sophie and saying,  
"It's _je lis un livre_ , Sophie. With an s." Harry explains, his deep voice slicing right through Louis as he effortlessly pronounces the French words, and oh. Harry speaks French, that's... interesting. Good. Fuck, Louis thinks, why does he keep getting more and more frustratingly attractive by the day? It's not fair, really. Harry can cook, speak French, he's super good with children and he can braid. And, Louis adds bitterly in his thoughts, he doesn't like me. But what's new.  
"Yeah," he agrees and his voice sounds just a bit shaky, because Harry looked at him without disgust in his eyes and it shouldn't feel as monumental to Louis as it does. "It's _je lis_. With an s," he repeats Harry's words, though they don't sound quite as melodic as they did when Harry said them, deep voice flowing smoothly like honey.  
"You're not the only French genius here, Louis."  
Louis drops his pen.  
Louis drops his pen and wants nothing more than drop dead right then and there because Harry spoke to him. Harry just spoke to him, he said his name - and God does it sound good when Harry said it, giving it an extra French pronunciation to go with the situation - and he's teasing, for heaven's sake! Harry is teasing Louis. Harry is speaking to Louis.  
And Louis absolutely doesn't know what to do.  
He's lost, completely out of his depths because he spent so many nights imagining just this, Harry being playful and teasing him. He spent hours on his car rides home from work imagining the shape of Harry's lips when they says Louis' name, and now that he knows what they look like he's completely overwhelmed.  
Sure, Harry still looks nervous and hesitant as Louis gapes at him, but his eyes aren't cold and he doesn't leave the room as soon as Louis enters and there's a teasing undertone in his voice that sends a shiver through Louis' entire body to the point where he can't even feel his toes.  
So instead of answering, he bends down and picks up his pen, his fingers trembling so much that he nearly drops it again in the process.  
He knows his head is probably bright red but Harry's still looking at him when he comes back up and Louis' mind is racing a hundred miles an hour.  
"Uh," he manages eloquently, his sassy wit has run for the hills as soon as Harry's eyes had met his. "Yeah, so it seems. I had no idea you're a secret Voltaire." That makes Harry smile in delight, a small, barely-there curl of his lips but it makes his entire face light up and Louis' heart is hammering inside his chest because he caused that smile. He made Harry Styles smile at something he said. To Louis, it feels like winning a Nobel price.

"J'ai décidé d'être heureux..." Harry starts, his wonderful voice sounding even smoother as it effortlessly flows through the French words, and Louis' voice is just a bit shaky when he replies,  
"... parce que c'est bon pour la santé." They grin at each other, Louis grinning so widely that his entire face hurts because he absolutely cannot believe this and it makes him drunk, interacting with Harry, having Harry's attention on him. It makes him more intoxicated than all the wine he drank with Liam. Harry's grin is smaller, reserved and barely visible but his eyes crinkle slightly and his nose is scrunched up and it's there, so naturally Louis gets addicted. He gets addicted to Harry Styles' smile, and vows to try his best every day to make him smile more.

 

Later that day, Louis finds himself in a room with Harry for the second time, both of them stuck in the kitchen to prepare a light lunch before their shift ends. They work in silence, the only sound coming from Harry rapidly chopping red peppers and Louis cutting cucumber into slices, his own motions much slower than Harry's practised ones. His nerves are skyrocketing because Harry is there, only a few feet away from him and they're not talking again, the air between them thick with tension and it weighs heavily on Louis' shoulders, because he doesn't want this morning to be a one-off. He doesn't want to go back to Harry being distant and cold, so he desperate wrecks his brain trying to find something witty to say, so lost on his own thoughts that he doesn't even notice that Harry puts his knife down and turns to face him.  
"I heard what you said to Aaron the other day."  
The words hang in the air between them for a moment, heavy and full of meaning.  
"I know," Louis says quietly, his voice barely carrying over to Harry. He doesn't know where this is going, if Harry is mad because of what he said, if he overstepped a line... Harry slowly picks up his knife and continues chopping, a pensive frown on his face. He takes a deep breath, chest heaving under his thick black jumper, and he doesn't look at Louis when he mumbles,  
"It was nice, what you did. Making him feel special. It's hard to feel special in a place like this." There's pain in Harry's eyes, an undercurrent in his voice that makes it painfully obvious he knows what he's talking about. The images from the bus ride come back to Louis, images of a tiny curly haired boy feeling lost and lonely, and a shiver runs down his spine. Looking at Harry now, green eyes focused almost manically on the chopping board in front of him and shoulders tense, he realises that maybe this Harry isn't too far from the boy in his mind. His shoulders are broader and there's a stubble dusting his cheeks, but something about the way Harry treats the kids here, always making sure they feel like the most important people on earth when he talks to them, makes Louis think that he still feels empty, that he can still sympathise too much. And it's ridiculous and inappropriate, because they barely know each other and this is the first time Harry's properly talking to him, but in this moment Louis wants nothing more than to replace the emptiness in Harry's eyes.

 

  
The next two weeks are probably some of the best in Louis' life. Things with Harry get better day by day. Harry is still very reserved and shy, and there are moments when he freezes and stops replying to what Louis says, but more often than not they speak together when they're in the same room. Harry never approaches Louis, but whenever Louis speaks to him he replies, and they have a habit of teasing each other a little bit about silly little things. Like Harry's love for bananas, or how Louis bets Harry braids his own hair every night before he goes to bed and that's why it's so curly. Harry teases Louis about his non-existent cooking skills and his obsession with football, and it's not much, just a few sentences spoken here and there, but it's enough. It's enough for now.

 

It's freezing again, heavy clouds hanging low over London, and Louis prays to whoever is listening that it won't snow, because he absolutely doesn't want to scratch snow and ice off his car tomorrow morning at 5:30.  
His gloved hands fumble to turn up the heating in his old car, the blowers howling loudly as they fight to warm up the icy air. Louis waits until the car is starting to warm up before backing out of Franklin's parking lot, because he's not too keen on freezing to death on his way home.  
As he pulls onto the main road leading away from Franklin's and into London he spots a dark figure hurrying down the pavement, hands stuffed deeply into the pockets of a long black coat, and Louis' heart stutters inside his chest when he realises who it it.  
Harry looks like winter, all pale skin and bright green eyes and rosy lips, breath coming out in puffy clouds, and before Louis can even think about what he's doing he brings his car to a stop and rolls down the window.  
"Harry!"  
Harry stops walking, long legs stumbling as he turns around to face Louis, surprise written across his features and his eyes nervous.  
"You wanna hop in? I can drive you home." Louis suggests, sending Harry a small smile in the hopes of convincing him, desperately trying not to let Harry see just how rapidly his heart is pounding inside his chest.  
Said heart sinks when Harry shakes his head, curls flying wildly.  
"No, thanks. I'm fine," Harry dismisses but Louis can see the way he shivers in the ice cold air. He doesn't know where Harry lives, but he'll be damned if he lets him walk in this weather.  
"It might snow soon and it's freezing, I'm not letting you walk," Louis states firmly, sending Harry a challenging look that Harry returns, but it's not as firm as Louis', not with the way Harry nervously nibbles on his bottom lip.  
"Louis, I..." he starts but Louis interrupts him, trying to ignore the way Harry pronounces his name sends a shiver down his spine.  
"Stop arguing, Styles, and get in here. I can see that you're freezing, don't make this more difficult than it needs to be." He gives Harry a small smile to take the sharpness from his words, and his smile widens impossibly when Harry huffs a "fine, if you insist," and sinks down on the passenger's seat.  
And why did Louis ever think that inviting Harry into his car was a good idea? Because now Harry's a few inches away from him and the smell of smoke and cologne slowly fills the small space between them, and it's a miracle if Louis' doesn't wreck the car because he's too distracted by the sight of Harry rubbing his hands to warm them up to focus on traffic. Seriously, why is he so obsessed with Harry's hands anyway?  
And to top it all off, the radio host deems it a good moment to play [Go Your Own Way](https://youtu.be/6ul-cZyuYq4) by Fleetwood Mac, which is absolutely not okay because it's all too fitting and Harry's face lights up like Christmas. He hums along, his deep voice filling all the empty spaces in the car and the empty spaces inside Louis' chest and really, it's too much.  
"Fleetwood fan?" Louis asks, desperate to end the brooding silence between us, his voice flat and shaky. Harry nods but keeps his eyes focused on the road ahead as he replies,  
"Yeah, I love them, they're one of my favourite..." the 'bands' that Louis assumes was meant to follow ends in a long yawn, Harry clasping his hand over his mouth, blushing madly.  
"Sorry," he whispers quietly, nervous eyes meeting Louis' but Louis just turns his head to look at Harry, smiling softly because Harry looks tired, eyes sleepy and face pale and he's still so beautiful that it hurts.  
"It's fine," he assures Harry, not recognising his own voice because since when is it so soft, so warm? "It's been a long day, hasn't it? Morning shifts start too early." Harry agrees quietly, leaning his head back against the seat and wrapping his coat tighter around himself. Louis isn't quite sure whether it is to protect himself from the cold or from being around Louis, but he desperately hopes it's not the latter.  
They drive into London, tall houses and little shops littering the sides of the road, and when Louis spots a familiar sign he makes an executive decision. He pulls off the main road and parks behind a small café, turning off the motor before facing Harry.  
"Louis? What are you doing?" he asks, panic quickening his usually slow words.  
"Don't worry, I didn't bring you here to murder you." He sends Harry a wink, trying to play it cool despite the way his entire body trembles. Taking in Harry's alarmed face, he can't help but think that maybe this was a bad idea after all.  
"I need a coffee or else I'll fall asleep, and you look like you could use something warm to drink, too," he explains gently, watching Harry shiver when he opens the door and a gush of cold air sweeps through the car, giving Harry a pointed glance. "You coming or what? If you don't join me, I might have to consider murdering you after all."  
Without looking back Louis gets out of the car and a few seconds later he hears the telltale sound of a second car door slamming shut, the gravel scrunching beneath a second pair of boots. Harry is by his side in a second, his long legs carrying him quickly to where Louis is walking towards the little Café, and he hesitantly follows Louis inside. It's a cute, vintage style café with dark leather seats and dim lighting and it's almost painful how Harry fits right in, looking so delicate and soft with his pale skin and dark coat and long, shiny curls. They chose a table by one the windows, dim winter light falling onto them as they peel out of their coats and welcome the warmth of the room as it seeps into their frozen bodies.  
"What can I get you?" Louis asks and Harry blinks in surprise, staring up at him with horror written across his face.  
"You don't have to..." he starts but Louis interrupts him with a gentle hand on his shoulder, Harry flinching away from the contact and Louis tries not to let the small smile slip off his face.  
"What can I get you?" he repeats, firmer this time, and Harry crumbles, shoulders sagging as he gives in.  
"You're having a coffee?" he queries cautiously, nibbling on his bottom lip again, leaving it shiny and angrily red and Louis can't help but swipe his thumb over his own lips, wondering how Harry's would feel against his skin. They look soft and so, so pink, does Harry use lip balm? Is it flavoured? Cherry, maybe? Or strawberry?  
"Then I'll get one, too." Harry announces and Louis frowns, because that's not how this is supposed to work.  
"Harry, you can get whatever you want."  
"A coffee is fine, thank you." With one last scrutinising look at Harry - that tells him that coffee is absolutely not what Harry wants - Louis nods and heads towards the counter to order. As he waits for the girl to prepare their drinks, his eyes travel back to where Harry is sitting, taking in his profile as he pensively stares out of the window, his body tight. It's so tense between them again, the situation so awkward as they constantly tiptoe around each other, and Louis wants nothing more than to know why Harry's like this with him, why he can joke freely with everyone else but as soon as it comes to Louis, he's so reserved. Scared, almost. It saddens Louis deeply and he hopes its not too obvious how much his hands shake when he puts the tray down on the table.  
He hands Harry his drink and watches as his green eyes widen in surprise, plump lips popping open on a gasp as he takes in the large cup of steaming hot chocolate, topped with whipped cream, marshmallows and chocolate sauce.  
"It's the Special Hot Chocolate," Louis explains quietly, hoping that Harry will blame the blush on his cheeks on the warm air in the room. He doesn't have to say more, doesn't have to say ' _and special people deserve special drinks_ ' because the way Harry smiles tells Louis he understood. Louis knows that Harry doesn't feel special, that much became clear when they talked about Aaron and Harry knew just too well how the little boy feels, and God, Louis thinks helplessly as he looks at Harry timidly staring at his drink as if he can't quite believe that someone would buy him something like this, you are so special, Harry Styles.  
Harry's head is bowed, eyes focused on the cup in front of him but Louis can see the way his hand trembles as he stirs the hot chocolate, and even though his curls fall into his face they can't quite hide the blinding smile on Harry's face.

And who knows. Maybe there is hope after all.

 

 

**...{ to be continued }...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, chapter number one. I hope you enjoyed it xx   
> If you have any questions, ideas, wishes or opinions (I love constructive criticism but not destructive) please feel free to comment. 
> 
> Say hi on Twitter (@myheroiscurly) or Tumblr (also y  
> Myheroiscurly) you want to x


	2. You are in love with a shadow that won't come back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two, next round. This is massively long, almost 18k words, because I am absolutely crazy. I hope you'll like it, please let me know if you do x   
> There are some song suggestions for this chapter that portray the mood of the situation, just click on the name of the song and you'll be redirected to YouTube. You don't have to listen to it of course, but they're some of the songs I've been listening to while writing and I think they fit quite well.  
> Happy reading and all the love, 
> 
> Lily x

If Louis had hoped that Harry would open up after their evening at the café, he's wrong.  
Harry is still so distant at work, always keeps a few feet of space between them, always finds stupid excuses to leave the room whenever Louis enters. When Louis speaks to him he answers, but it's a mess of stuttered words before Harry gives up and shakes his head, eyes cast downwards as if looking at Louis is too much to bear. It hurts, because Louis knows that Harry has so much to say, that there's so much to Harry he doesn't know yet and he desperately wants to learn but how could he when Harry won't let him? The only difference is that Harry's formerly cold and frozen eyes are now sad, the green dull like a forest on a foggy day, blinking slowly and averting their gaze whenever they fall onto Louis, and Louis doesn't know what's worse.

  
About a week after the coffee incident they have a late shift together, Harry preparing one of his legendary dinners and Louis pretending to help when really, he assumes he's just standing in Harry's way. But Harry doesn't mention it, doesn't ask Louis to leave, he simply pretends like Louis isn't there except for giving him stuttered instructions every now and then, and there's the occasional flicker of his eyes in Louis' direction. It's almost as if Harry wants to look at him but won't let himself, and Louis doesn't know what to do because what's stopping Harry?  
Sighing, Louis puts his knife down and let's his gaze settle on Harry, who pointedly keeps his eyes focused on the pot in front of him.  
He looks beautiful as always, dressed in a dark grey sweater with long sleeves that cover half of his hands and black skinny jeans, his hair pulled back into a bun to reveal a sharp jawline, and Louis distractedly wonders what would hurt more, cutting himself on a knife or on Harry's jaw.  
There's a stray curl that doesn't want to fit into the bun, curling wildly behind Harry's ear and Harry keeps huffing in annoyance, trying to tame the strand of hair but it keeps popping back, falling out of the bun every time Harry tries to tuck it into the hair tie. It's adorable, Harry's frustrated little groans, and Louis finds himself smiling helplessly at the man in front of him, fondness softening his eyes.  
"Pesky curl, hm?" Louis blurts, his mouth moving before he has the chance to register what he's doing and Harry's head snaps around so he can look at Louis, a fine blush covering his cheeks when he finds Louis staring at him, the bread he was supposed to cut laying completely forgotten on the countertop in front of him.  
Harry doesn't say anything, but then again Louis didn't expect him to. He just wants this, wants Harry to look at him with a curious glint in his eyes, cheeks rosy with embarrassment when he realises that Louis has been looking at him for quite a while.  
"It...it never stays put," he grumbles, eyes flickering to the ground for a second before they meet Louis' again, Harry's tongue darting out to nervously lick his lips and Louis can't breathe.  
"Maybe you should try bobby pins? I'm sure the girls have some," Louis suggests timidly, his heart hammering inside his chest because Harry is talking to him again, finally, and he looks gorgeous and vulnerable and guarded but he's talking to Louis, and that has to be worth something, doesn't it?  
Harry hums high in his throat, nodding pensively, but before he can reply a timid "Harry?" coming from the door distracts both of them. They spin around to find Oliver standing in the doorway, nervously twisting his hands in front of his body.  
"Hey, Olive." Harry greets, and it's as beautiful as it is painful to watch the change in Harry when he approaches the boy. His shoulders relax, a small but genuine smile taking over his face, eyes softening as all the nervous reserve melts away from his body and it's like a punch to Louis' stomach, because this is what he wants. He wants Harry to be that relaxed and warm around him, but all he gets are shy, reserved glances and stuttered words and strained tension. Swallowing hard Louis manages to send Oliver a smile before he turns around to focus on the bread he'd abandoned earlier, listening to Harry and Oliver talking. His heart melts as much as it freezes when Oliver timidly asks if Harry has a minute to talk and Harry immediately assures him that he's got all the time in the world, because Harry is so loving and caring when he wants to be. He clearly doesn't want to when it comes to Louis. It's frustrating, really. Frustrating and tiring and annoying and Louis presses the knife down so hard that he nearly cuts through the wooden tray as well.  
"Can you handle the cooking for a second? Just keep stirring." It takes a moment for Louis to realise that Harry is talking to him, and when he does he barely manages a shrug in response, bitterness bubbling inside his chest because he's so tired of trying, he's tired of being the one to approach Harry all the time, tired of getting nothing but uneasy glances and mumbled replies in return.  
"Of course I can handle it. A bit more faith in my cooking skills would be nice." Louis attempts a joke but it falls flat, his voice strained instead of teasing, shoulders stiff as he walks over to the pot on the stove to give it a stir. He doesn't look up from the stove when he hears footsteps leaving the kitchen, missing the way Harry turns around to look back at Louis, confusion and regret darkening his eyes.

  
Louis immediately feels it when Harry comes back a few minutes later, the air tensing around them, a prickle running down his spine. Seconds later he feels the presence of another body next to his, Harry picking up the bread and cutting it into even, thick slices.  
"Oliver just wanted to talk about something. He...likes a girl at school and wanted advice..." Harry explains, green orbs meeting Louis' blue ones, voice sounding apologetic.  
"You don't have to explain anything to me, Harry," Louis dismisses calmly, his voice eerily quiet and controlled and Harry nods, biting his bottom lip into his mouth as he visibly deflates, disappointment weighing down his shoulders at Louis' words, leaving Louis baffled because what did he do now? He thought Harry clearly didn't want to talk to him, so why does he look discouraged, almost desperate when Louis treats him the same?  
He hears Harry take a deep breath and looks over at him, seeing him fumble with a slice of bread, nervously ripping it to shreds as he seems to be searching for courage.  
"It's the hardest at that age, when you're hitting puberty." Harry starts, not meeting Louis' eyes. "Your body starts changing, everything starts changing and you feel like you're going to burst out of your skin if you don't have anyone to talk to, like you're all alone with your confusion. I know how it feels, so I want to be there for him, you know?" He carefully looks up at Louis, eyes raw and vulnerable and so strikingly green that Louis' anger simply melts away. It's the most open that Harry has ever been with him, and Louis can't help but hope that maybe Harry noticed how much it hurts that he keeps so much of himself hidden from Louis.  
Harry drops the remaining crumbs of bread and looks down at the mess he made, eyes widening in surprise as if he didn't even realise what he was doing and Louis almost chuckles at the helpless look in his eyes. But he sobers quickly, because what is he supposed to say? He loves how caring Harry is, but at the same time it's like a punch it the guts seeing Harry interact like that with everyone but him. Why are you so cold to me, Louis wants to ask, why why why? But he doesn't ask, because he's not quite sure he wants to know the answer to that.  
"It's good that you're there for him," is what he settles for, keeping his voice noncommittal and his smile small.  
"Yeah," Harry shrugs, blushing slightly. "I don't know why I told you that, I..." he starts, trembling fingers reaching out to hastily gather the bread and put it in a basket, "I'm sorry." Harry breathes, eyes cast down and bottom lip wobbling and, no. This is not what Louis wants, not at all. Because Harry isn't supposed to be sad, ever. He has struggled enough throughout his life, Louis can gather as much from the way he talks to the kids, from the way he seems to know just a tad too well what's going on with them, and who is he to make Harry feel worse? As much as Louis doesn't understand the problem Harry has with him, as much as it hurts, Louis will be damned if he makes Harry feel worse than he already does. With an overwhelming need to erase the sadness from Harry's eyes he reaches out and carefully places his hand on Harry's shoulder, stopping him from hastily leaving the room and Harry nearly drops the bread basked when Louis gently squeezes his shoulder, sending him a warm smile.  
"Don't apologise," Louis gently shakes his head, smile widening when Harry's hands slowly stop shaking. "I... you can talk to me, yeah? Whenever you want to. I mean... if you want to." He's rambling, words bubbling out of his mouth and it doesn't make any sense, and Louis would probably die of embarrassment if it weren't for the way Harry's eyes soften, a sparkle appearing in them.  
"Oh...okay. Yeah, thank you." Harry's words are soft, barely audible and nearly getting lost in the sound of footsteps thundering up the stairs, the kids heading towards the kitchen for dinner.  
Something inside Louis' chest shifts, and he squeezes Harry's shoulder again, longing to feel the other man's warmth against his fingers and Harry's eyes flicker down to his shoulder, zoning in on Louis' hand and a fine blush creeps up his cheeks, dusting the pale skin with a light rosy colour. For a moment Louis wonders if he went too far, a small confused frown appearing on Harry's face but then Harry looks back up at him and smiles, a genuine, thankful smile, before slipping out of his grasp and out of the room.  
With the image of Harry's smile still fresh on his mind, Louis counts it as a success.

 

  
-

 

  
"I can't believe you're leaving us for an entire weekend, ya wanker. I'll miss yer pretty face!" Niall whines playfully, throwing his arms around Louis and enveloping him in a big bear hug. Laughing, Louis presses a tiny kiss to Niall's wild hair, smelling like candy floss, sugary and sweet. "I might even miss you too, Horan. But only a little bit." The last part earns him an elbow in the ribs but he laughs it off, ruffling Niall's hair before letting him go.  
"No, seriously, have fun with yer family, Tommo." Niall sends him a genuine smile that Louis gladly returns, but it fades quickly when he sees Harry deflate a bit out of the corner of his eye, his hands tightening around the laundry basket he's holding. Noticing Louis' concerned eyes on him Harry blushes slightly, managing to send him a small smile that Louis gladly returns, beaming back at the boy.  
"I'll see you on Monday, yeah?" he asks timidly, fiddling with his keys as he watches Harry nod, curls bouncing softly.  
"Yeah," Harry adds after a few seconds of silence, nibbling on his bottom lip. "Monday."

With Harry's promise fresh on his mind Louis hits the motorway, his old Ford groaning slightly as he pushes him to a higher speed. He stops at the large Toys'R'Us in Doncaster a few hours later, Friday afternoon traffic being an absolute pain even though he left work a bit early to try and avoid the worst of it.  
He strolls through the aisles to look for some toys for his sisters, a few stuffed animals for the baby twins and some card games for the older twins maybe?  
As he reaches for a stuffed owl with huge eyes that he decides is perfect for Doris he notices a bright yellow, fluffy smiley key pendant with crooked sunglasses on, the entire thing so ugly that it makes him laugh out loud. It's very soft, though, the fuzzy fabric smooth and pleasant against his skin. For some reason, the overly bright smile on the smiley's face makes him think of Harry. Harry, who barely ever smiles like that, at least not when he is around. And God, he wants Harry to smile like that. Wants to be the reason Harry smiles so wide his cheeks hurt. Without allowing himself to think about it too much he drops both the owl and the smiley key pendant into his basket. He spends a small fortune at the cashier but shrugs it off with a grin, because he's got a proper job now and his siblings are worth every penny. He nods in satisfaction when he loads the wrapped-up presents into his car, the key pendant sitting safely in his coat pocket.

Home looks just like it always has, the same warm, inviting red brick walls, the same flowerpots that will soon hold the same bright daffodils that they always do as soon as winter passes into spring. He parks in the familiar driveway and barely has the chance to get out of the car before there are girls clinging to his legs, Phoebe and Daisy barely reaching his chest as they hug him close, squealing in excitement.  
"Hello, ladies!" he greets them on a laugh, ruffling Phoebe's hair and pressing a messy kiss to Daisy's cheek, ignoring their half-hearted protest. "My my, you've grown up."  
"We're gonna be taller than you soon," Phoebe teases, sticking her tongue out when he squeezes her cheek, shaking his head down at her with a playfully stern look.  
"Not possible, nobody could ever be taller than me," he says earnestly, fighting a grin.  
"Yeah, dream on Lewis." Lottie's dry voice carries over to them and Louis looks up to see his oldest sister leaning in the doorway, giving him an unimpressed glare.  
"You're just jealous of my good looks, Lots," he retorts with a wink before scooping both of the twins up in his arms, twirling them around once. "Happy birthday, darlings. I can't believe you're already 12."  
"Thank you, Lou," Phoebe whispers into his ear while Daisy just smudges her cheek against his, ignoring his probably scratchy beard. He should probably shave, but it's winter and cold and Louis is entirely too lazy.  
"Lewwie!" A small voice yells from the doorway and Louis looks up in time to see Doris wobble towards him on stubbly legs, patting Lottie's hand away when she tries to help her. She looks absolutely adorable, deep blue eyes large in her chubby face, and Louis puts the older twins down to scoop Doris up in his arms before she can fall down the stairs.  
"It's my favourite little lady!" he exclaims, beaming down at his youngest sister before leaning down to blow a raspberry against her cheek. Giggling, Doris buries her face in his neck and clings to the fabric of his hood, holding on tight and Louis' heart warms as he nuzzles his face into her silky hair. "How are you doing, Miss Doris? All good?" Doris chirps excitedly, clapping her chubby hands together and Louis takes it as a signal to head inside, kissing Lottie's cheek in passing. He greets Fizzy with a warm hug and Earnest with a cuddle, then heads to the kitchen to deposit the bag with the presents on the table.  
"Hi mum," he greets, wrapping his arms around his mother from behind and softly kissing her cheek, inhaling a wave of the same perfume she's been using for years, ever since Louis saved all his pocket money for months to get it for her birthday.  
"Lou!" He finds himself in a warm embrace, his mother as loving and warm as always. "Dinner will be ready in just a moment, you must be pretty hungry. How were the roads?"  
"Horrible. Road works everywhere. Oh, I bought some presents for the birthday twins and the others, they'll get them tomorrow." Deciding he might as well make himself useful he gives the vegetables sitting in a pot a stir and fishes out a piece of cauliflower to see if they're cooked through. "These are done, by the way." Nudging his mum out of the way he pours the veggies into a bowl, not noticing her amused stare until he sets the bowl down on the table and looks up at her.  
"What's with the look?" Jays grin deepens, her eyes crinkling in the same way Louis' always do.  
"Louis William Tomlinson, you have never set a foot in this kitchen in 25 years and now you're helping me cook? Are you sure you're alright?" she teases, delighted but with a seriously curious edge to her voice. Blushing, Louis lifts one of his hands to rub the back of his neck in a nervous gesture, shrugging helplessly.  
"Well, I prepare a lot of food at Franklin's, and there's this guy... There's Harry, he's really good at cooking and yeah, we work together a lot." He does not, of course, mention that he has been practising cooking in his own flat for weeks to be able to help Harry more and to look at least a little bit less like a loser in the kitchen. Nobody but Liam, who took in their mess of a kitchen after Louis' failed attempt at making lasagna with a knowing grin, will ever know about that. Nobody, Louis made Liam promise it.  
"Harry?" His Mum immediately picks up on the little tremor that ran through Louis' body at the mention of Harry's name, eyeing him with a little smirk tilting up the corners of her mouth. He considers denying it, that Harry is anything more than just a simple colleague like Niall and Josh, but there's a reason Louis has kept him secret from his mum for so long. Because he knows that she can read him like a book, and the second he opens up about Harry his mum will know what the deal is. And, in all honesty, Louis isn't quite ready to admit to himself how much Harry affects him, he doesn't need his mother to confirm it for him.  
"We've got a lot to talk about tonight," he capitulates with a small smile, knowing that his Mum will make him spill anyway.  
"I've got wine." His mum up runs a soothing hand over Louis' shoulder and smiles encouragingly, nodding towards a bottle of red that sits on the top shelf in the kitchen, before dropping a pot into his hands and motioning for him to set the table.

  
They have dinner as soon as Dan comes home and it's absolutely delicious. It's good to be back, and with a quiet sigh Louis realises that he's seen far too little of his family ever since he moved to London for Uni. And as he looks around, watching Fizzie attempting to feed Earnest but rather smearing food all over his face, the twins bickering over the last slice of cake that they end up sharing anyway, and the warm fire crackling away in the fireplace in the corner, he can't stop his thoughts from wandering to Harry. It's not like Louis thinks about him constantly, but he can't deny that whenever he allows his mind to wander, it always somehow finds its way back to Harry.  
It saddens him deeply, knowing that Harry never had any of this. He never knew what it feels like to have his mother look at him with a proud grin when he talks about his new job, he never knew how much a heart can expand when you watch your little siblings grow up, he never knew how good it feels to bicker over silly things but cuddle up on the sofa afterwards to watch TV. Harry never knew the warmth of a family's love, and seeing all the love within his own family, Louis can only wish that he could share some of this with Harry. Some of this love.

Later that night, in his old shoebox of a room - he bravely gave up the biggest room when Lottie came along - he carefully digs the smiley pendant out of his coat pocket. Sinking down onto the soft mattress with the yellow ball of fluff in his hand Louis smiles down at it, a weak, nervous uplift of his lips that doesn't linger.  
Is he crossing a line with this? Is it too much? Is he cornering Harry by assuming he needs to be cheered up?  
"What do you think, little friend, hm?" he wonders out loud, lifting the smiley face up to eye level in the hopes that it might answer him, shed some light on the 'Harry-mess'. But the plush toy remains silent, the overly bright smile unwavering as it doesn't answer Louis. Snorting, Louis shakes his head at himself, because how on earth could a plush toy answer him? And why should it?  
He knows Harry would never accept the gift if Louis were to approach him and give it to him in person, so he digs around in the drawers of his old desk until he comes across a little notebook. Ripping out a page, Louis scribbles down a note, tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration as he tries to make his handwriting less messy than it usually is.  
When he's done, he looks down at his present with a proud yet nervous smile, the key pendant grinning up at him, the note stuck to the clip where it's supposed to be attached to a key chain.  
' _I hope one day you'll be as happy as this little fellow_ '  
Louis doesn't know if this is a good idea, doesn't know how Harry is going to react, but he's decided to take some chances. And this is chance number one.

 

  
-

 

  
When Louis gets to work on Monday afternoon he hangs his coat on the rack next to Harry's with slightly trembling fingers. Taking a deep breath, he looks around to make sure that he's alone in the foyer, before running his hand over the thick fabric of Harry's long coat until he feels the opening to one of the pockets. Before he can think too much about it Louis simply slips the little pendant into the pocket of Harry's coat and steps back, hastily looking around again, feeling caught. And when he makes it upstairs and to the kitchen, his heart is still hammering inside his chest because what if this is a bad idea? What if Harry will be offended? Is he overstepping a line?  
He sends Niall home with a weak grin, and as Niall and Harry leave the kitchen together to end their shifts, he doesn't have it in him to look Harry in the eye.

 

The next day, Louis crawls out of bed at 5:15 am to be at Franklin's at 6, sleepiness making his movements slower, his entire body freezing in the crisp morning air. The sun hasn't even risen yet and his headlights cut sharply through the darkness as he parks in front of the old manor.  
Walking inside, he spots Harry's coat hanging from the same rack as yesterday, and almost on instinct Louis reaches out again, longing to feel the fabric again. It's still warm, he realises, which means Harry must've arrived just minutes before him, and he lets his hand linger on the warm inside of the coat for a moment before checking both of the pockets - they're empty. Which means Harry must've found his little gift.  
With a lump the size of a baseball in his throat Louis trudges up the stairs and into the kitchen, and when he carefully slips inside his breath is knocked out of his lungs, the lump growing, making it impossible for him to breathe.  
Harry is already there, curls pulled away from his face in a lazy bun, the sharpness of his jaw contrasting with the soft, sleepy green of his eyes. He's cutting up some fruit for breakfast, the motions of his long hands slow and syrupy, as if he's not quite awake yet.  
He's wearing one of his favoured oversized sweaters, this one a deep berry colour, long sleeves covering his hands and the combination of Harry with tired eyes, a bun and sweater paws this early in the morning makes Louis falter in the doorway, makes him hesitate and linger in silence for a moment because he just has to watch, he has to stare at Harry and stare and stare because he looks so beautifully soft and fragile in the weak morning light that it makes Louis' chest ache.  
He nervously clears his throat and steps further into the kitchen, snapping Harry out of his haze. His eyes snap up to meet Louis', the motions of his hands slowing until they stop altogether.  
"Good morning," Louis greets breathlessly, and for a moment he fears Harry isn't going to answer. Because there's a look on Harry's face, and it's pensive and calculating and Louis holds his breath for a terribly long while until Harry finally answers.  
"Good morning to you, too." It's quiet and reserved and Harry turns back to the apple he was chopping with an almost confused frown on his face. Louis tries not to be too discouraged. He fails.

Harry is weird the entire day. He's quiet, not just towards Louis but generally, he's not even his usual bubbly self around the kids and Louis would like to believe that Harry is just in a bad mood, that it has nothing to do with him if it weren't for the way Harry looks at him every now and then. Whenever Louis looks in Harry's direction Harry is already looking at him, curiosity and confusion mixing in his eyes and he always looks away as soon as he gets caught. It's unnerving, really, having Harry look at him like that, and by the time the end of their shift comes around Louis is about ready to jump out of his skin. Because Harry knows, he knows who the pendant is from if his glances are anything to go by, yet he doesn't say anything. He doesn't approach Louis at all, just watches him and Louis doesn't have it in him to approach Harry either. He doesn't know what Harry's thinking, if he's mad or pleased and Harry is not giving anything away, just continues to stare at him with wide green puppy eyes and it's too much for Louis. When 2 o'clock finally rolls around he almost sprints into the foyer to grab his coat, only hastily waving a goodbye to the kids and Lou when he leaves because he needs to get out of here as soon as possible, needs to get away from Harry and confused eyes and pressure and fuck.  
Inside his car he rests his head against the cold leather of the steering wheel and takes a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart and mind. Then he backs out of Franklin's parking lot and doesn't look back.

 

  
-

 

  
About a week later, Louis finds himself in the gardens behind Franklin's, once again playing footie with Niall and some of the boys. It's fun, but the ground is still frozen and they technically shouldn't even be doing this because falling down now would hurt like a bitch.  
Harry's inside with Barbara and the other kids, teaching them some cake recipe and Louis almost wants to be inside with them, even though he'd normally never choose baking over footie. But the thought of Harry with flour in his hair licking dough off a spoon is just too tempting, and a small giggle pushes past Louis' lips at the idea of having a dough fight with Harry. Then sadness floods through him, because Harry would probably never goof around like that, not with Louis.  
He's been distant all week, but in a strange way. Whenever Louis approached him he answered without hesitation, but his voice was slow and full of wonder, eyes soft at the corners and confusion still brimming inside them. Louis didn't and still doesn't know what to make of Harry's behaviour but he can't deny that it hurts, having Harry act so closed-off again, even if it's a different kind of distance between them now. It's still...  
"Ow, fuck!" Louis groans, suddenly finding himself on the ground, limbs spread out in all directions as he lays on the frozen grass and a patch of gravel. He blinks, the bright winter sun shining brightly down at him, rays being reflected from the ice of a frozen puddle next to Louis' left foot. Great, he thinks and defeatedly drops his head back on the ground, now Harry completely knocked me over, literally. It's embarrassing, really, that he's been too caught up thinking about Harry to pay attention to where he was going. Louis feels his face heat just as Niall jogs over and grabs Louis' arm to steady him as he stands up, grimacing down at the huge patch of dirt on his jeans.  
"Crap, I just did laundry yesterday." Louis curses, trying to wipe off some of the mud but he only makes it worse, smearing it everywhere.  
"You alright, Tommo?" Niall queries, pointing to Louis' left arm where a long gash in his jumper reveals red, bruised skin, covered in mud and little stones. Frowning, Louis pushes up the sleeve of his jumper, cursing when he realises the jumper is probably ruined.  
"Damn it, this was my favourite jumper." Snorting, Niall juts his elbow between Louis ribs and gives him a pointed stare.  
"Who the feck cares about yer jumper, I wanna know if you're alright, Tomlinson." Grinning, Louis flexes his hand and moves his arm a bit, gritting his teeth together when the scraped-off skin burns slightly but relieved when nothing hurts.  
"Yeah, fine. Just scraped off some skin there, must've landed on a few rocks. Just me luck."  
"You better go back inside and clean this up, yeah?" Niall suggests and Louis lets himself be led back to the house, cradling his arm to his chest and inspecting the wound.  
He's so focused on gently rubbing dirt off his arm that he doesn't even see Harry shooting up from his chair until the old wood scrapes across the floor, a few kids looking up from whatever they were drawing.  
Harry, though, is standing in front of the large table, slowly inching closer, eyes travelling up and down Louis' body, taking in his flushed face and muddy clothes until they come to rest on the wound on Louis' arm, a frown flickering across Harry's face.  
"What happened?" Harry demands do know, voice quiet but firm, his eyes not leaving Louis' arm and the frown on his face deepening. It makes Louis' head spin a little bit, the way Harry is focused so completely on him, the way he almost seems to be worried though that doesn't make any sense, does it?  
"Oh, nothing, I fell. Just scraped off some skin there, nothing dangerous," Louis shrugs it off but his voice is oddly flat, breathy, a sharp gush of air pushing out between his lips when Harry's eyes flicker up to meet his, his mouth set in a grim line.  
"That needs to be cleaned up," he decides, his voice firm, leaving no room for arguments. And before Louis knows it, Harry has a large hand tangled in the sleeve of his jumper on his good arm, his grip unyielding as he pulls Louis after him and towards the stairs. Louis barely manages to send Niall a confused look before Harry drags him out of the room, Niall's surprised but pleased face the last thing he sees before Harry pulls him upstairs and into one of the bathrooms on the first floor. He doesn't say anything, just holds onto Louis' sleeve, and Louis desperately tries not to think about the way Harry's hand effortlessly wraps around his entire wrist, long fingers warm on his arm even through the fabric of Louis' jumper between them.  
Inside the bathroom Harry wordlessly guides Louis towards the tub and sits him down on the edge of it before turning around and gathering the first aid kit and some towels from the cabinet.  
Louis watches him quietly, his injured arm long forgotten as he watches Harry in the bright bathroom light, skin almost as porcelain and white as the tiles on the walls around them. He's beautiful, even more so now than ever, bright lights illuminating his eyes, chocolate curls tumbling wildly over his shoulders.  
He works quietly, not a single word spoken between them as Harry grabs a washcloth and begins to wipe the mud and dirt out of Louis' wound, an apologetic look in his eyes when Louis hisses audibly as Harry disinfects the wound with alcohol once it's clean.  
Harry doesn't look up at him, giving Louis the perfect opportunity to watch him as he works, deep green eyes focused intently on Louis' arm, a crease forming between his brows in concentration, large hands so soft and working so precisely that Louis almost feels dizzy and it has nothing to do with his wound. He tries not to gasp every time Harry's hands brush his skin, cold fingertips smooth against his heated skin.  
It's intoxicating, really, watching Harry work quietly with such precision, hands so gentle as he puts ointment on the wound and bandages it lightly to keep it clean. Once he's finished he stands up and gathers the dirty washcloths, throwing them into the hamper in the corner of the room.  
Louis doesn't have the strength to stand up yet, fearing that his knees will give in because having Harry so close to him, feeling his breath against his skin - it does things to Louis' insides that it shouldn't do, not yet, not ever. So he stays seated and waits until Harry turns around to face him, green eyes meeting blue ones and Harry seems to snap out of whatever haze he has been in for the last few minutes, his eyes widening in panic and it stirs Louis awake, because he doesn't want Harry to panic because of this, doesn't want Harry to regret this. He quickly stands up, breathing a silent prayer of relief when his knees don't give in, and reaches out to gently wrap his hand around one of Harry's, hanging limply by the other man's sides. He feels Harry freeze, his entire body going still but the feeling of Harry's hand in his is enough to encourage Louis to go on. He carefully squeezes Harry's hand, whispering a "hey," until Harry lifts his gaze from the tiles on the floor and nervously meets Louis' eyes. "Thank you."  
Harry smiles hesitantly, a tiny curl of his lips, before he carefully squeezes Louis' hand in return, just once but it's enough to make Louis' heart jump out of his chest.  
"You're welcome."

They head back downstairs in silence, Harry keeping a few feet between them like he always does but today, it doesn't bother Louis as much as it usually does because he's smiling down at the bandage on his arm, still feeling the ghost of Harry's skin lingering against his. Niall is sitting at the table, having taken over whatever Harry had been doing with the kids before, and he sends them a disgustingly broad, suggestive grin when they quietly slip back into the living room. Harry stiffens and immediately leaves Louis' side to sit back down at the table, but before Louis can feel disappointed he notices the flush on his face and the way Harry's hands tremble ever so slightly as he reaches for a pen, and Louis thinks that maybe, just maybe, today has been another step in the right direction.

 

  
-

 

  
Harry is leaning against the iron gates of Franklin's, ghostly pale fingers wrapped around a half-smoked cigarette, cold smoke pushing out of colder lungs, smudging his handsome features until he becomes one with the blurry, grey city around them.  
This time, when Louis stops his car next to Harry, the other man doesn't look up in sheer bewilderment. He just takes another lazy drag of his cigarette, rosy lips wrapping tightly around it and it does things to Louis' insides, Harry's all-black body blurred by the smoke exhaled out of his mouth. He flicks the cigarette to the ground and stomps it out, then without another word opens the door and gets into the car.  
The drive to Harry's flat is quiet, and it is only when they're a few minutes away from Harry's place that he speaks up.  
"Did you have a good time with your family?" Harry asks, staring straight ahead out of the windshield and Louis' heart sinks.  
"Harry, we don't have to talk about this," Louis rushes to assure him and Harry looks over at him, seeming almost hurt.  
"You don't want to talk?" he questions, seeming taken aback and Louis immediately shakes his head, resisting the urge to reach out and place his hand on Harry's thigh to assure him because that would definitely be too much.  
"No, I do. But... I kind of thought you wouldn't want to, since, you know..." he doesn't need to finish the sentence because the way Harry's face darkens tells him that Harry understands what he's hinting at. He parks the car in front of Harry's building but Harry makes no move to get out just yet, instead turns his entire body to face Louis.  
"Just because I don't have a family doesn't mean that I don't want you to have a good time with yours," he explains gently, and there's a hint of pain in his voice but the small smile he sends Louis seems genuine, so Louis smiles back, emotion welling up inside of his chest because fuck, Harry doesn't deserve any of this. Not knowing what to say Louis simply nods, hoping his eyes will convey what he can't possibly say with words. Harry seems to get it, though, and his face softens slowly as he looks at Louis, green eyes enquiring.  
With a farewell nod Harry gets out of the car, unfolding his long body and Louis doesn't immediately drive away, instead he waits for Harry to get inside safely. So he sits in his car and watches Harry jog up the stairs to the door, presumably to escape the cold, breath coming out in puffy clouds not quite as dark as the smoke from his cigarettes.  
His hand disappears into his coat pocket and when Harry gets his keys out Louis spots a bright yellow smiley pendant dangling from Harry's keychain, and his heart stutters madly inside his chest.

 

-

 

When Louis takes over for Niall a few days later he finds Barbara in a frenzy and Clara, one of the youngest girls, standing in the foyer with a suitcase packed.  
A woman is standing in the doorway hugging the little girl to her side and Louis recognises her from the meetings they had together and the days her and her husband spent at Franklin's to get to know Clara. They're a lovely couple, good people with warm hearts and Louis knows Clara will get to grow up in a loving family. He's happy for her, because every child should have a family, right? Families are important, the support and love you get from them is so essential and Louis knows that no matter how much they try, they can't quite replace a proper family here at Franklin's so he's grateful for every child that gets adopted, even if it means letting them go.  
The smile slips off Louis' face, though, when he sees Harry quietly cross the room to slip out of the back door and into the snow covered gardens, a frown on his face, his lovely eyes stormy. He watches Harry's back as he stomps through the snow and eventually disappears out of sight, and when he drags his eyes away from the backdoor it's to find Niall staring at him with curious eyes, assessing him quietly. He seems to find whatever he's looking for in Louis' face, because decision flashes through his eyes before he leans in to whisper into Louis' ear.  
"He doesn't like pickup days, I guess it reminds him too much of when he lived here," Niall explains, his voice gentle and sympathetic and Louis' insides tighten at the image of young Harry sitting at the dining table at Franklin's, watching other children get picked up by their new parents while he is left behind. His horror must show on his face, because Niall's eyes soften even more as he gently claps Louis on the back.  
"He's out on the swing, that's where he hides away. But you don't know that from me." With a wink and another warm smile Niall steps forward to say goodbye to Clara. Louis follows quietly, his mind a mess because why on earth would Niall tell him that? Almost like he wanted Louis to know where Harry is. But why... Louis can't quite keep the frown off his face when he hugs the little girl goodbye and he hopes Barbara and the others will blame it on him being emotional because of the pick up.  
But as soon as they're distracted he grabs his coat from the rack - noticing that Harry's is missing - and quietly slips out of the house. He doesn't know what he's doing, but he can't help feeling like Niall wanted him to know where Harry is, almost as if pushing Louis to go see him. Which doesn't make any sense at all, but here Louis is, trudging through the snow with his coat wrapped tightly around himself, hands stuffed deep into his pockets. And, truth be told, he'd be here even without Niall's words, because the thought of Harry being alone with his thoughts and memories doesn't sit well with him, not at all.  
That's why Louis finds himself climbing the little hill behind Franklin's, snow seeping into his shoes and soaking his socks. He can't even feel his toes anymore but it's not stopping him, especially when he spots Harry sitting on one of the swings, shoulders slouched and body slumped as he stares at the untouched snow in front of his feet.

He doesn't look up when Louis reaches him, but the way his fists tighten around the chords of the swing tells Louis he knows he's here. His fingers look almost blue, Louis notices, and he wants nothing more than to walk up to Harry and wrap him up in a hug to warm him and keep him together. But he doesn't dare to do it, so instead Louis just stands a few feet away from Harry with snow falling around them, not knowing what to do or say.  
"Clara is getting picked up, you don't want to say goodbye?" is what he eventually comes up with, his voice quiet and soft as to not disturb the white flakes falling gently around them.  
"No." Harry doesn't say anything else, still doesn't even look at Louis, and after a few moments of stretched silence Louis carefully sits down on the second swing, brushing the snow off before sinking down on the wood. It's quiet up here, peaceful with the snow falling in puffy white flakes, the hill far away enough from the house so that no sound reaches them.  
Turning his head to the right, Louis focuses on Harry's long body on the swing next to him, hands wrapped so tightly around the swing that his knuckles turn white. He's beautiful, soft and fragile in the wintery light, skin almost as white as the snow. He stares forlornly into the distance, eyes heavy as his hair is blown into his face, a gentle breeze picking up that makes them both shiver in their coats.  
Louis should probably say something, do something, but he doesn't know what, doesn't know how, so he just looks at Harry and forgets how to breathe. They sit in silence, Louis watching Harry and Harry watching the snow.

"I hated pickup days, you know?" Harry starts after a long time, his voice barely audible. He still refuses to look at Louis. "Because every damn time, when someone new comes in with an adoption permit, you get your hopes up. Every damn time you think 'maybe this time it could be me, maybe I'll finally get a family. A home.'" Harry huffs, a short, frustrated and pained sound, his foot shooting out to slam into the ground, snow rising around them. "And every damn time they leave Franklin's with another child smiling happily in their arms. Nobody ever chose me, and why would they?" Harry laughs bitterly, the sound cut short when he shoots up from the swing. He doesn't look back at Louis as he storms down the hill and back to the house, and Louis can't find it in him to move. So he stays on the swing, watching Harry's dark figure disappear behind a wall of white, getting smaller and smaller in the distance until he disappears out of sight. Long after Harry is gone, Louis still sits on the abandoned swing, freezing and thinking, thinking about Harry, who wears his sadness like a winter coat wrapped tightly around his body, and somehow he knows it's not enough to fight off the cold.

 

  
-

 

  
Whistling, Louis jogs down the stairs and into the foyer, ready to head home and have a lazy afternoon. Liam's off today so they've got a lads evening planned, including pizza, beer and the fifth season of Game Of Thrones. The snow has finally thawed and the sun peaks through the heavy layer of clouds littering the sky, and it's a good day. Louis finds himself grinning as he reaches for his coat, but... Hang on. Frowning, Louis inspects the bag attached to his coat, wrapped around one of the sleeves. It's a simple black plastic bag, no label or name on it. With curiosity bubbling inside him he carefully unwraps the bag from his coat and peeks inside.  
Gasping, Louis pulls out the thick light brown sweater inside, staring at it with wide eyes. "My sweater," he whispers incredulously to the empty foyer, hands brushing over the thick fabric that had been stitched where he ripped it open during his footie accident in the garden a few weeks ago. After Harry had cleaned his wound Louis had thrown the jumper into the hamper in the bathroom, it was too dirty to keep it on at work so he put on the spare sweatshirt he always keeps in his car. How on earth... Turning the jumper around, a small piece of paper flutters to the ground and Louis picks it up with trembling hands. In bold, neat handwriting, it says 'Fixed it. H.'  
Grinning like a loon, Louis carefully stuffs the note and jumper back into the bag and holds it close to his chest, because Harry did this. Harry, of all people. He found Louis' jumper and decided to wash and fix it for him, and this has to mean something, doesn't it? After the incident on the swings Harry had been quiet and moody for a few days before he'd slipped back into his usual chipper and warm self, though the distance he kept to Louis intensified. It made Louis' heart feel heavier, and it feels heavier now, too, but it's a different kind of heavy. A good kind of heavy, and there's a warmth spreading through his body that Louis just can't stop. Neither can he stop the broad smile from taking over his face, and he can't get rid of it for the rest of the day.

  
-

  
Louis smiles, looking over Aaron's math homework, thankful that the boy is young enough so Louis' lack of knowledge doesn't become too obvious, when there are several loud thuds, followed by a shrill scream. Flinching, Louis looks up from the table at Harry jumping up from his seat, pencils dropping to the floor as he rushes to the staircase where the sound came from.  
Louis follows immediately, socked feet almost slipping on the floor as he runs towards the foyer, dread churning his stomach.  
He finds Anna crying violently in Harry's arms, her face pale and long hair wild, cheeks blotchy with tears as Harry murmurs soothing nonesense, gently holding her close. She must've fallen down the stairs, Louis realises, and he carefully steps closer to not disturb the already shocked girl. From years of experience with footie injuries he knows the odd way her arm is bent is not a good sign. He looks down at them, gnawing on his bottom lip as he crouches down in front of Harry and the crying girl. Their eyes meet, and the dread in Harry's eyes tells Louis he too knows that Annas injury is serious. Cooing gently Louis reaches out to softly touch her arm, making her wince and scream out loud, cuddling back into Harry and despite the situation, Louis' heart warms at the sight. It's evident how much the kids trust Harry.  
"Doesn't look good," Louis mumbles quietly, eyes focused on Annas arms.  
"I know," Harry agrees just as quietly, both of them looking at each other for a moment.  
"I'll get my car so we can get her to the hospital, yeah?" Louis suggests, eyes still locked with Harry but both of them look down at Anna when she whimpers at Louis' words.  
"Shh, princess, you'll be fine," Harry whispers soothingly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her temple, brushing her messy hair out of her face. "Yeah, your car will be faster than an ambulance," Harry directs his next words at Louis', voice still so soft. It makes Louis' chest tighten, the way Harry doesn't even hesitate before agreeing to let Louis drive them to hospital. He'd expected Harry to object. Nodding once, Louis turns on his heels and reaches for his coat, tugging the car keys out of the pocket and handing them to Harry, who is standing with Anna still in his arms, holding her awkwardly so her arm doesn't get hurt.  
"Go ahead and get in the car, I'll tell Barbara and Josh what's going on. I'll be with you in a minute," he assures, ushering Harry out of the door.  
On his way back from Barbara's office Louis runs past the living room and spots Annas favourite blanket hanging over the backrest, the purple one with orange flowers on it. Without thinking he reaches out and grabs it, then proceeds to run towards the car, shrugging on his coat as he walks. After a second of hesitation he grabs Harry's coat, too, and runs outside to join them at the car.  
He finds Harry and Anna in the backseat, the little girl snuggled up on Harry's lap. She's not sobbing anymore but there are endless tears streaming down her cheeks, she's clearly in pain but Harry manages to keep her fairly calm, stroking her hair and murmuring to her. Louis opens the door and spreads the little blanket over them, earning himself a small smile from Anna. He also throws Harry's coat onto the backseat next to them, and when he looks up it's to see Harry staring at him with intense eyes, an unreadable expression on his face. Smiling nervously, Louis hops into the drivers seat and starts the car, tires screeching as he rapidly backs out of Franklin's parking lot. When he looks into the rear view mirror, he sees Harry smiling at him, his lips curling upwards just a tiny bit but it makes Louis' heart jump nonetheless.

  
Louis drives as fast as he possibly can without getting pulled over and they immediately head into the emergency room. Thankfully it's fairly empty and the lady at the counter casts one glance at the crying child in Harry's arms before she immediately calls for a doctor. Harry looks just as relieved as Louis feels that they don't have to wait long.  
Anna is taken away so the doctor can have a look at her arm, clutching the blanket in her uninjured arm when she realises she'll be without Harry and Louis for a while, leaving them both in the waiting room.  
The plastic chairs are horribly uncomfortable and creak every time someone moves, and Louis is hyper aware of Harry next to him. They're sitting close, so close that he can feel the heat radiating off Harry's body. Sneaking a glance over at him Louis realises Harry is jumpy, his entire body tense as he anxiously fidgets with his hands and stares down at the floor.  
"She'll be fine Harry, dont worry. It's just broken, I think, but shouldn't be too complicated," he tries to soothe Harry, but his own voice doesn't come out as strong as he would've liked. He can't quite decide what's more unsettling, seeing Anna crying or seeing Harry like this, so fearful and scared, almost guilty. Harry just nods absentmindedly, bottom lip nervously bitten into his mouth, and it's clear he doesn't quite believe Louis, so without thinking Louis reaches out and places a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder, squeezing once to try and comfort him. Harry doesn't flinch away, but neither does he look up from his hands.  
"You look pale as a ghost, I'll get you something warm to drink," Louis decides, chair creaking as he pushes himself up. He saw a little cafeteria when they first walked in and heads back in that direction, not waiting for Harry to reply because Harry is shaking and clearly worried, and it makes Louis feel more unsettled than it should.

 

He comes back with two steaming cups of tea and sits down again before handing one of them to Harry, who takes it gratefully. He takes a tentative sip and Louis can almost see the warm liquid breathing some life back into Harry.  
"Seems like you're making a habit out of buying me drinks," Harry jokes weakly, finally looking up at Louis. His eyes look impossibly green in the fluorescent light of the waiting room. Louis chuckles breathlessly, unable to come up with a reply because Harry is looking at him and he's so pretty Louis can't think straight. "But seriously, thank you," Harry adds, his voice more sincere and he takes another long sip. Louis tries not to stare too long at the way Harry's long fingers effortlessly wrap around the entire span of the cup but he feels his cheeks heat, and it has nothing to do with the warm tea.  
"Thank you for fixing my sweater," he blurts without thinking, his mind too occupied with Anna and broken bones and green eyes and long fingers. Harry freezes with the cup halfway to his mouth before clearing his throat and shrugging.  
"It was nothing."  
"It wasn't nothing, Harry!" Louis protests, nearly spilling his tea when he turns to face Harry. "It was nice and I didn't expect you to do it, so thank you." He sends Harry a warm smile and Harry actually blushes, a fine layer of pink covering his cheeks, eyes cast down again, long lashes softly brushing the tops of his cheekbones. It's cute, Louis decides. Very cute. He wants to ask about key pendant, wants to know whether Harry likes it, whether he's seen the note attached to it but just as he's worked up enough courage to open his mouth a doctor comes in, heading towards them. Harry immediately jumps up from his seat and Louis follows suit. The doctor introduces himself as Dr. Jordan and smiles at them, a hint of confusion in his eyes.  
"And you two are...?"  
"Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson, we work at the orphanage Anna lives at," Louis explains quietly, watching as a flash of pity flickers across the doctors face. He manages to control his expression quickly, though, and gestures for them to follow him.  
He proceeds to rattle off Latin names of bones and muscles as he leads them through endless white corridors, and from the look on Harry's face he understands about as much as Louis does - which is nothing - but he still listens intently, brows furrowed in a frown. Eventually, Louis gathers that Annas arm is indeed broken but it's a clean break. Harry's shoulders sag as he exhales in relief and Louis wants to run his hands across Harry's back, wants to massage the stiffness out of his shoulders until Harry is completely relaxed. He pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans to physically keep himself from doing something stupid.  
Anna is awake when they get to her room but looking groggy, pumped full with painkillers. Her arm is secured with a thick cast and Louis smiles, imagining all the signatures and drawings that'll be on that cast by the end of the day. She smiles exhaustedly when they walk in, waving weakly with her good hand and Louis waves back, letting Harry rush to her side and instead staying back to talk to the doctor.  
He almost misses the instructions Dr. Jordan gives him, too distracted with watching Harry wrap Anna up in her blanket and assuring her that her cast looks totally badass and not awkward at all. He's such a mother hen, Louis thinks fondly, a heavy sigh pushing past his lips because why can't Harry be like that with him? What did he do wrong?  
"Right, Mr. Tomlinson, I'll see you next week for the checkup. A nurse will be in soon to tell you what painkillers she needs. See you on Thursday." Louis shakes the doctors hand and watches him leave, sending Harry a warm smile before rushing out of the door to get to his next patient. While they wait for the nurse Louis walks over to the bed and sinks down onto the mattress opposite Harry, taking Annas tiny hand in his. It's icy cold, so he carefully rubs it between his palms to warm it up, earning himself a toothy grin from the girl.  
"How are you feeling, Princess?" He returns her smile and squeezes her hand, chuckling when she scrunched her nose and shrugs as much as she can without hurting her arm.  
"Okay. Hurts a bit but it's okay. I'm a big girl, I can take it," she assures them, nodding proudly and Harry's low chuckle hums through the room, wrapping around Louis like silk.  
"That you are," Harry agrees earnestly but there's a hint of mirth in his eyes that makes the green sparkle brightly and Louis' grip on Annas hand tightens subconsciously. Louis only notices when she squeezes his hand in return.  
"Thank you, Haz and LouLou," she breathes, her voice wavering as she gifts both of them with a grateful look.  
"You're welcome, princess." Louis lifts her hand to his mouth and places a smacking kiss to the back of it, winking at her when she giggles. He nervously looks over at Harry and sees him smile back, and for a moment all they do is grin at each other across bed, relief clear on both of their faces. Haz and LouLou, Louis repeats in his head, still grinning. Sounds good together, he decides.

  
They drive home in silence, Anna sleeping soundly cuddled into Harry's side, completely knocked out by the painkillers. Louis parks and hops out of the car to open the door for Harry, and when he sees Harry reaching out to lift Anna up he stops him with a hand on his arm.  
"No, let me carry her. It's not good for your back." Louis feels his face go red as a tomato when he realises what he just said and Harry looks at him with wide eyes, clearly surprised that Louis knows about his bad back. In his defence, Niall mentioned it at one of the pub nights and after that Louis couldn't help but notice the way Harry winced every time he lifted something slightly heavy. He forgot about it earlier, too shocked because of Annas injury but he remembers now and he won't let Harry carry her if it causes him pain.  
"Niall mentioned it," Louis mumbles almost inaudible, looking down at the frozen gravel beneath his feet. A hum leaves Harry's throat, the sound noncommittal. It takes a few seconds until Louis has mustered up the courage to look at Harry, but his face gives nothing away. He just watches Louis closely, a confused frown on his face. Unable to look at Harry any longer Louis leans down to lift the sleeping girl out of the car, and as his hand brushes Harry's hip, he tries not to flinch.  
He carries Anna inside, smiling down at her when she doesn't even stir, too knocked out by the shock and the painkillers. Harry follows them with a thoughtful look on his face, watching Louis through wide eyes.

  
As soon as they walk through the door they're greeted by a herd of yelling kids that all want to know how Anna is doing, tears on some of their faces and Louis' heart expands, because they're worried about her like she's their sister, and that means they're doing something right here at Franklin's, doesn't it? Niall follows close behind, looking pale and worried, and Louis is surprised to realise that their shift is already over. He hadn't noticed just how long they were gone.  
He carries Anna into her room and let's Harry tuck her in. She barely blinks, still so sleepy, but she sends her friends a smile and promises that they're all allowed to draw on her cast later. Louis takes Niall and Barbara aside to inform them about what the doctor said, then writes the date for Annas checkup in the large calendar in the kitchen. He runs into Harry in the foyer as he slips into his coat, looking as exhausted as Louis feels, circles underneath his eyes and lips bitten raw from worrying so much. He doesn't even hesitate before gently clapping Harry on the shoulder.  
"C'mon. I'll drive you home," he suggests, and much to his surprise Harry agrees immediately.

  
-

 

* _Oi, Tommo. Please make sure that you bring gloves and warm clothes, IT'S ICE SKATING DAY!_ *  
Frowning, Louis reads the message Niall sent him again and drops his head back into the pillow, face first. Groaning, he allows himself a few more minutes of peace in his bed before he heaves himself out of it and drags his tired body into the bathroom despite the warm covers calling his name. It's cruel, really, getting up at 5am. Too cruel, especially if he'll have to go ice skating. He needs to be proper rested to survive ice skating. Fuck ice skating.

  
"Louis, did you get my message?" Niall greets him brightly when he arrives at Franklin's, all grumpy and tired. He shoots Niall a challenging glance, one eyebrow pulled up, and states, "you woke me up, Niall. I could've slept for fifteen more minutes."  
"Well, it's not my fault that you didn't put your phone on silent. Anyway, you prepared?" Nodding, Louis holds up the small bag with a scarf and some warmer clothes, grimacing at the thought of having to go ice skating. Because the thing is, Louis sucks at it. He's done it a million times, always took his sisters to the ice rink when he still lived at home, and every single time he fell arse over tits, his body covered in bruises and bum hurting.  
"Cool thing, you and Harry are leaving after breakfast. Got about ten of the kids coming with you." And, what?  
"Hang on a minute," Louis gasps, because there is no way he understood Niall right. "You're not coming?" Grinning, Niall shakes his head at Louis and pats him on the back.  
"Nope, got my knee fixed a few months ago, I don't want to risk falling. And someone has to stay here to take care of the other kids. It's you and Harry, mate." You and Harry. You and Harry. Ice skating with Harry. Louis is fucked. And Louis hates ice skating.

  
Unsurprisingly, Harry loves ice skating.  
Sighing, Louis grabs the barrier surrounding the ice rink with a tight grip, the metal icy cold even through the fabric of his gloves. With shaky legs he manages to twist just so, so he can look over the kids gliding happily across the ice rink, broad grins on their faces. It's cute, and Louis' heart warms fondly as he looks at the tiny humans wrapped up tightly in thick jackets and scarves, the pigtails Harry and him braided patiently while they were on the tube poking out underneath beanies and hats. They're giddy, laughing and chasing each other on the ice and their laughter rings brightly through the crispy air. A deep, rumbling laughter joins the high pitched sounds and Louis snaps his head around to look at Harry, surrounded by kids that cling to his hands and his coat, smiling just as brightly as them and oh.  
He's blindingly beautiful, Louis thinks weakly as he stares at Harry, all bright eyes and flushed cheeks, curls tumbling freely over his shoulders, bouncing as he glides elegantly across the ice. It's unfair, really, the way Harry is so pretty and soft and elegant, long coat waving with every strong glide. Harry's legs look endless and Louis finds himself stuck, staring at the strong muscles of Harry's thighs visible through his skin tight jeans, contracting and shifting with every stride, and Louis' throat grows dry. Involuntarily his tongue darts out to lick his equally dry lips, head filled with images of Harry's endless thick legs wrapped around his waist as he sucks bruises into the soft, milky skin...  
He's so lost in thought that he doesn't even notice Julie standing next to him until she tugs at the sleeve of Louis' coat and he startles out of his thoughts to smile down at her, feeling caught.  
"Why are you standing here all by yourself, Lou? You need to skate with us!" She pouts, big blue eyes blinking up at him and Louis laughs in embarrassment, tugging gently at one of her braids.  
"You see, I'm not very good at ice skating, love."  
"Harry is good, he can teach you!" Julie smiles, clearly excited at the idea and no, that's absolutely not an option. Absolutely not. Louis panics, but he still takes Julie's tiny outstretched hand, because when a super cute six year old girl wants you to come along with her, you do. Even when you're about to shit your pants.  
Somehow, Louis makes it to the centre of the ice rink without falling and dragging Julie down with him, even though he did stumble several times, earning him amused glances from the little girl. Once they reach the rest of the group the others start noticing them, laughter bubbling out of the kids as they see Louis wobbling towards the group with uncertain steps.  
"Yeah, alright kiddos, you just laugh at me. That's totally fine," Louis grumbles playfully, because how could he be seriously mad when he's got ten little kids giggling brightly, grinning at him? He almost considers dropping to the ground in a fake stumble just to make them laugh some more but then he catches sight of Harry, Harry, who is giggling and smiling so wide it almost looks painful, dimples on full display and God, Louis wants to live in those dimples. He wants to wrap Harry up in an embrace and breathe him in, feel his warm and solid body in his arms. But that's never going to happen, isn't it? Louis' own smile dies down a little at the thought, and it's as if Harry notices, as if he can read Louis mind because his eyes soften, the grin slipping off his face, turning into something more tentative, something deeper.  
Julie drags him to stand next to Harry and she trustingly smiles up at the much taller man, slipping her tiny hand into one of Harry's large paws.  
"Harry, I think you need to help Louis," she declares, completely unaware of the tension starting to build around them as they stare at each other, Louis with a hesitant, apologetic smile on his face, Harry with wide, calculating eyes. Louis watches as Harry swallows nervously, his throat bobbing with the motion and Louis distinctly wonders what Harry's skin would taste like right there, just under his jaw where it looks the softest.  
"Yeah, I think I do," Harry agrees quietly, a tiny but amused smile playing with his lips, his voice paper thin but decision flashes through his eyes, and a second later he reaches for Louis' free hand.  
Louis very nearly drops to the ground then and there, because fuck. Harry's hand is so warm, he can feel the heat of Harry's skin even though both of their gloves, and it's huge, nearly swallowing Louis' but his fingers are long and slender and they fit right into the spaces between Louis', they just fit. They fit perfectly, and Louis' mind goes into overdrive. Because what is happening? This is Harry, who normally barely talks to Louis, who averts his gaze and never approaches Louis first and suddenly they're here, holding hands and it's too much. It's way too much.  
"I can take care of little wounds, but I'd rather not you break your legs." Harry smiles shyly when Louis looks up at him, nervousness shining brightly out of his eyes but there's something else in there, a hint of hope maybe, and the sassy reply dies down on Louis' tongue.  
"Thank you," is all he manages to croak, holding tighter onto Harry's hand as Harry tugs him forward, and somehow Louis isn't scared of falling anymore because Harry's hand is wrapped securely around his and Harry is right next to him, warm and solid, and Louis knows he'd never let him fall.

  
-

  
The air is filled with the smell of smoke, alcohol and too many bodies, the little pub absolutely crowded. Grimacing, Louis manoeuvres around a group of fairly drunk guys swaying wildly, trying not to spill his beer as he makes it back to the table where the other lads are sitting. He tries to listen to what Niall shouts at him over the noise of the pub but it's useless, both because it's way too loud and because his focus is on someone else. Because, the thing is, Harry is here.  
Harry is here and he looks so unfairly good it should be a crime. He'd arrived before Louis and it had all started innocent enough, Harry sitting at their table in a sheer black shirt, curls shiny and long, his face freshly shaven and skin so smooth that Louis wanted nothing more than to touch it, to run his lips over the sharp line of Harry's jaw.  
He did no such thing, of course, and instead just focused on the pint Niall had placed in front of him. They haven't spoken yet tonight but Harry had smiled at him when Louis walked in and he counts it as a success.  
Just as they're about to reach the table Louis sees Harry stand up from his chair, stretching his long body and leaning down to give Josh a dimpled grin. And Louis nearly drops his pint because _fuck_. Fucking hell.  
Harry looks incredible. His legs seem to be poured into a pair of black skinny jeans, this pair a deep black that hugs Harry's strong thighs and Louis' mouth waters at the sight. Then he lets his gaze travel up to Harry's chest and he nearly chokes on his own spit, black ink and the hint of abs visible through the sheer black material adorned with pink flowers that match the shade of Harry's lips. He looks out of this world, so fragile and soft yet so bloody sexy that Louis doesn't know what to do with his hands.  
Harry passes him and shoots him a small smile, his hips swaying smoothly to the beat of the music playing in the background and a whiff of cologne hits Louis' nose as Harry squeezes past him. Louis tries, absolutely tries his best not to turn around and look after Harry but his body betrays him and he spins, eyes glued to the swell of Harry's little bum, mouth stuck open and jaw on the floor. He's lucky if he isn't drooling.  
Then there's an elbow between his ribs and beer sloshing over his hand, and Louis looks to his right to see Niall giving him a knowing look, obscenely waggling his eyebrows.  
"What?" he shouts over the noise of the crowd, slightly irritated and Niall shrugs, his face the perfect picture of cherubic innocence.  
"Nothing, mate," he promises cheekily but Louis can see the smirk on his face so he reaches out to wipe the beer off his hand on Niall's shirt as a punishment. Besides, it's Niall's fault that he spilled it in the first place so Niall deserves it. The Irish lad just cackles, head thrown back and blond spikes standing away from his head, and they make it to the table without any further interruptions.  
Louis plops down heavily into his seat, heaving a long sigh. He leans to his left to listen to Ed who begins to tell him about a new position at work and Louis should absolutely be listening except... Harry's right in his line of sight, standing at the bar with his hip jutted to the side, endless panes of milky skin visible through the sheer shirt. The muscles in his back shift when he accepts his drink, some pink, fruity looking cocktail that is so Harry that Louis can't help but snigger into his beer.  
"Louis? You listening, mate?" Ed asks, ripping Louis out of his thoughts and he spins to face his friend, an apologetic look on his face.  
"Ah, sorry man, was just watching the barista making some funky cocktail," he lies smoothly and luckily enough Ed isn't as perceptive as Niall so he actually believes Louis.  
For the next ten minutes or so Louis actually manages to keep up a conversation with Ed without looking for Harry because he's an independent adult and is absolutely not obsessed with Harry Styles. No way.  
Except, it's been a while and Harry still hasn't returned to their table, so maybe one quick glance is allowed, right? Just to make sure Harry's fine.  
He peeks towards the bar and immediately regrets it, because Harry is not alone.  
There's a man standing next to him, tall with ashy blond hair and okay, he's kind of good looking but what the hell is he doing with Harry?  
[[The 1975 - Somebody Else](http://youtu.be/7nGAhp2Ldko)]  
Jealousy shoots through his body hot and heavily when the stranger lightly rests his hand on Harry's elbow, leaning down to whisper into Harry's ear and okay, that's absolutely unnecessary because the music isn't even that loud, he doesn't have to get so close does he? Louis sourly crosses his arms in front of his chest, huffing in frustration when Harry smiles back at the stranger, his left dimple popping in a flirty smirk as he whispers back, leaning just as close to the man and right, Louis absolutely doesn't need to watch Harry get cozy with some random guy. If anything, it just proves that Harry really doesn't like Louis because he's so friendly with literally everyone else except him. Sighing, Louis frowns down into his pint, feeling the progress he felt he has made with Harry over the last few weeks crash to the ground. What is he doing wrong?  
When he looks back up he finds Niall looking at him with calculating eyes, his brows set in a pensive frown.  
"He usually doesn't leave with us after pub nights," Niall explains and even though he's not grinning the suggestive undertone in his voice is clear and Louis' heart sinks. He knows exactly what Niall is implying but he wants the confirmation anyway because his mood is already ruined, so what's a little salt in a fresh wound, right.  
"What?"  
"I mean, look at him." Niall starts and Louis does just that, drags his eyes over to the bar where Harry is still standing with the stranger. "I'm not gay but he's pretty, yeah?" Yeah, Louis agrees in his head, he's beautiful. "And he's got no trouble finding nice men to take him home." Louis drops his gaze back down to the table at Niall's words, missing the sympathetic smile on his friend's face. Of course. Of course gorgeous, wonderful Harry gets fucked on the regular and of course he wouldn't want to start anything with Louis. It's not like this is news to him but Louis' heart aches still, because having the proof right in front of him is something different than just assuming things in his head.  
Louis' mood is effectively ruined for the rest of the evening and he downs his pint in moody silence, ignoring the imploring glances Niall shoots him and instead focusing on a crack in the tabletop. He gets ready to leave, and as he shrugs on his jacket he throws another glance in Harry's direction, just one last time, just to twist the knife that's already stuck in his wound. Harry is still standing by the bar but now the stranger has his hand on Harry's back, gently stroking up and down, and the gesture nearly makes Louis throw up. He turns abruptly and nearly bumps into a waitress, stutters an apology and practically runs out of the pub.

 

It's tense at work the next day, both of them working a late shift together and for the first time since they met, Louis can't even bear to look at Harry.  
They're in the pantry, checking the food to see if they need to restock and the air is so thick with tension that Louis can barely breathe. He's exhausted, his head had been too full of thoughts and images to sleep well last night. Harry, on the other hand, looks perfectly well-rested. Looks like the stranger didn't last long last night, Louis thinks haughtily and continues counting the canned beans they have with a dark look on his face.  
"I didn't go home with him," Harry blurts suddenly, his normally syrupy words sped up and Louis' hand stills on a can.  
"What?"  
"I, uh. Yesterday. The...the guy at the pub?" Harry explains in a thin voice, as if Louis doesn't remember in crystal clear detail. He's not looking at Louis, eyes instead focused on the food list in his hand, a fine blush coating his cheeks. "I didn't go home with him. Just... just so you know." Harry sounds uncertain, swallowing around a lump in his throat as he finally dares to look up at Louis, nervous green meeting incredibly relieved blue. Louis doesn't know why Harry is telling him this, has no idea why Harry feels the need to let him know that he didn't go home with that guy last night but Louis takes it, takes it with open arms. There's something warm settling comfortably inside his stomach and spreading through his veins, making his entire body tingle.  
"Yeah, okay. That's... That's good," he breathes, sharing a shaky smile with Harry.

  
-

  
Louis weasels through the crowd outside of Westfield's, the giant shopping centre crowded even at 9 in the morning with tourists and Londoners alike fighting the cold with thick scarves and long coats, blending together to a mass of grey and black bodies.  
It's freezing and Louis wraps his hands tighter around the cup of tea in his hand, clinging to the warm plastic.  
He sees Niall rushing up the stairs of the tube station, his bright hair askew and standing out from the crowd. He waves wildly, nearly knocking a young girl over in the process and Louis cackles loudly, taking in Niall's flustered face when his friend finally reaches him, breathing heavily.  
"Louis, my Lord and saviour!" he greets, throwing his hands in the air and Louis takes in his flushed cheeks and manic eyes.  
"You look terrified, Nialler," he states smugly and downs the rest of his tea in one large gulp.  
"Fuck, I am terrified!" Niall admits on a groan, going bright red in the face and it's absolutely endearing, seeing Niall so terrified. He reaches out and places a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. "My girlfriend's parents are coming over for a surprise visit tomorrow and I have absolutely nothing to wear! I've never met them and they're kind of posh so..." Niall exhales loudly before remaining quiet for a few seconds, looking up at Louis with wide, begging eyes. "You know me, Lewis. I wear nothing but skinny jeans and baggy shirts, I've got no fashion sense. Your stuck-up bitch outfit, the one you wore the first day? With them pants and stuff? I need that." Cackling, Louis wraps one of his arms around Niall's shoulder and leads him inside, the smell of cleaning detergent and freshly baked goods hitting his nose. "With them pants and stuff, right," he repeats, snorting. "I had no idea you're Shakespeare, Nialler. But worry not, I am here to save thee!"  
They spend a large part of the next three hours shopping, browsing through store after store in search of something suitable. They of course avoid the high end stores like Chanel and Gucci because even though Franklin's pays well, it doesn't quite pay that well. But they find a nice pair of simple blue jeans at Topshop that fit Niall well - '"looking good but not over the top, you don't want to seem like you're trying too hard" - and a light blue button down at New Look. Niall is a bit opposed at first but when Louis insists it makes his eyes pop, they go for it. They also find a nice grey sweater and a good pair of Oxfords that'll go with both shirts, and once they're done Niall sinks onto one of the sofas set up all across the shopping centre with a groan.  
"Who knew shopping is so exhausting," he whines, leaning his head back against the sofa and pushing into Louis' touch when he gently runs his hands through Niall's hair in a soothing gesture.  
"It was worth it, though, you'll look smashing tomorrow. Now let's get some food into you, Irish." He watches fondly as Niall's eyes light up at the mention of food.  
"Can I have a pretzel?" Niall asks eagerly, pointing to a stand that sells freshly baked pretzels with all kinds of fillings and toppings. While Louis gets a plain one Niall goes for Nutella, and soon they're sitting on the sofa again, munching quietly. Well, Louis does; meanwhile Niall is having a feast, melted chocolate running down his chin.  
"Right mate, I have no idea why her parents wouldn't like you," he deadpans, levelling Niall with a dry stare but the other boy seems unimpressed, just continues to eat enthusiastically.  
"You're one to talk, I bet the parents all automatically love you, proper boy you are." Its true, parents usually love Louis, mainly because their children love him so much. Too bad that Harry doesn't have any parents to introduce me too, Louis thinks sadly, and then - hang on. No. No no no, abort mission. He cannot think like that, he absolutely cannot. Because, he shouldn't. Harry's clearly not interested in him, why does he even think about this stuff now? Just because Harry didn't go home with that stranger and held his hand while ice skating doesn't mean that he's interested in Louis. Don't get ahead of yourself, Tomlinson, Louis scolds himself mentally.  
Louis is 100% convinced that Niall is secretly a mind reader, because not even ten seconds later he mumbles, "so, Harry?" around a mouthful of pretzel, and Louis would be disgusted if he weren't so distracted by the question.  
Harry what? Niall fondly rolls his eyes at him when he repeats the question out loud, nudging Louis' side with his elbow.  
"Oh come on, you basically turn into a pile of soft cheese as soon as you look at him," Niall claims and no. Absolutely not. That's highly inaccurate.  
"A pile of soft cheese?" Louis asks on a fake laugh, "you really are Shakespeare, Niall. How could you keep this a secret from me?" He pretends to be offended, hoping to distract Niall with some good old banter but judging by the pointed look Niall gives him it's not working very well.  
"Yeah, your face gets all pink and gooey." Niall adds, and okay, pink and gooey, right. And all this time Louis thought he was being subtle. "And don't distract me, Tommo, we're talking about this!"  
Shrugging helplessly, Louis shoots Niall a discouraged, small smile.  
"What is there to talk about? Harry doesn't like me."  
Shaking his head, Niall swallows the last bite of his pretzel and wipes his mouth with a napkin that he promptly throws in Louis' face, the little shit.  
"He doesn't not like you," Niall disagrees seriously, "it's more like he doesn't let himself like you." And thinking back to a few moments they shared, when Harry cleaned his wound and fixed his jumper, or when he held his hand while ice skating, Louis can't help but agree with Niall. It's the impression he's had from the start, that Harry stubbornly refuses to like Louis because knowing him, 'hate' and 'dislike' aren't present in Harry's vocabulary.  
"Yeah, I feel like that too," Louis admits, eyes focused on the napkin be crumbles in his hands. "But it doesn't make a difference, does it?" There it is again, that hopelessness, but Niall is is smiling warmly.  
"I wouldn't say that. Things have improved, haven't they?" And Louis thinks about the key pendant he bought dangling from Harry's key, thinks about the little jokes they share every now and then, and he has to agree because yes, things are definitely better than they were when Louis first started at Franklin's. It's not as good as Louis would like it to be but it's better.  
"Yeah, they have," he agrees quietly, toying with the cap of the Coke bottle in his lap. Niall is quiet for a while, pensively staring ahead, before he turns to fix Louis with a fond smile.  
"Sometimes, when he thinks nobody is watching, he looks at you with this soft smile on his face. Don't give up on him, Louis, you just gotta show him that liking you is better than whatever he's convinced himself of."  
Louis' heart stutters madly inside his chest before it continues to beat rapidly, threatening to break out of his ribcage. Because Harry looks at him softly sometimes, and somehow that's all Louis needs for now.

  
-

  
"What do you mean you can't come, Niall? You can't let me down with this!" Louis' hand stops a few inches from the door before he drops it instead of knocking. He peeks into the kitchen to find Niall and Harry facing each other, harry with his hands thrown up in the air and a frown on his face, Niall looking apologetic.  
"My parents are coming to visit, I didn't know until yesterday. I'm sorry, H." Niall grimaces, whether it is at the thought of his parents being there with him for an entire weekend or because he's apparently letting Harry down, Louis isn't quite sure.  
Nodding, Harry sighs in defeat and leans against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, mumbling, "But going to a concert alone is no fun." He's pouting, bottom lip sticking out and his eyes big, begging for Niall to change his mind and shit, it's the cutest thing Louis has ever seen. Also, the hottest, because those lips. Plump and pink and he must wear lipstick, there is no other...  
"Oi, Louis!" Niall hollers, having spotted Louis in the doorway and Louis flinches, hastily dragging his eyes away from Harry's mouth to Niall's excited face. "You'll go with Harry, yeah?" Niall exclaims loudly, wrapping one arm around Louis' shoulders to pull him closer into the room, ignoring the way Louis almost stumbles because what? What is Niall even doing, why does he...  
"What?" he manages to breathe, interrupting Niall's rant about concerts and music and tickets they bought months ago. He's focused on Harry's face, who looks just as shocked as Louis feels, frozen in place with big eyes locked with Louis'.  
"...and now I can't go because me parents decided to surprise me and fly in from Ireland, but I don't want to let H go by himself. You've got an early shift on Saturday and Sunday's your day off, you'll go with him, won't you?" Niall asks, big blue puppy eyes blinking suggestively into Louis' and he's absolutely lost, because the thought of going to a concert with Harry is absolutely brilliant and everything Louis' has ever dreamed of but its probably everything Harry would never want. But Harry doesn't say anything, just stares at Louis' with a shocked but almost calculating expression, and it's too much.  
"Uh..." he manages eloquently, Niall sniggering into his fist at the lost look on Louis' face. "I mean, yeah. I've got nothing planned, my roommate's got to work, so. If that's, like, okay with you," he nervously turns to Harry again, who hasn't moved at all in the last minutes, "I mean, only if you want to. I'd go, I guess. So you don't have to go alone, of course." Niall's grinning and Louis is sure he's bright red in his face but Harry, Harry is what matters. And he's smiling. It's the same tentative, nervous smile he gave Louis when they were ice skating, and for a moment Louis swears he can feel the ghost of Harry's hand in his own.  
"You'd go, really?" Harry asks, bright eyed and surprised and Louis nods wildly, because of course he'd go. He'd jump off the roof of this building if Harry asked him to, but nobody needs to know that. Ever.  
"Yeah, of course. Like, I don't want to pressure you or anything, I mean. If you'd rather go alone..." Louis starts, nervously twisting his hands in front of his body but Harry interrupts him with a sharp shake of his head, curls tumbling wildly over his shoulders.  
"No, no I don't want to go alone. But, I mean, if you don't want to go... I don't want to ruin your weekend plans, so. If you don't want to, I'd..." He's rambling, too, just like Louis, a rosy flush sitting high on his cheeks and he's the most lovely thing Louis has ever seen. It's intoxicating, interacting with Harry like this and Louis let's himself get high on this, on talking to Harry and on the idea of spending an entire evening with him.  
"Alright, lads, don't cream yourself in your pants." Niall interrupts them dryly, and both guiltily snap their heads away from each other to face Niall, who is grinning so wide it almost looks painful. "Meet at Camden Station at 7, just like we planned it, right Harry?" Harry nods, and Louis feels a heavy weight settling into his stomach because holy fuck, they're really doing this. He's really going to go to a concert with Harry. Oh god.  
"Right, that's settled then. Back to work, boys!" With that, Niall ushers both of them out of the kitchen and they part ways, Harry and Niall heading upstairs while Louis walks towards the living room, but before they disappear out of sight Louis catches the small smile Harry sends him and his heart jumps inside his chest.

 

It's loud and pretty packed already, but the venue is quite small so they can still see the stage really well from where they're standing.  
"Want me to get some beer?" Louis shouts over the noise of the crowd and Harry nods gratefully, so Louis dutifully heads over to the bar and pays for two overpriced beers in horrible plastic cups. As he fights his way back to where Harry is standing he nearly stumbles over his own feet, because Harry's looking good. Really good. He'd swapped his long coat for a shiny leather jacket that nearly caused Louis to have a heart attack when he stepped out of the tube station to find Harry waiting for him, all tousled hair and skin tight jeans and a fucking leather jacket. He's always so pure, fragile almost with his long limbs and porcelain skin, and the sharp contrast of the leather jacket made Louis' head spin wildly. It's illegal to be so attractive, really, he thinks to himself with a shake of his head. Right now, Harry's standing there in just a thin, long-sleeved black shirt that hugs his torso like second skin, stretching over his broad shoulders and chest so that the fabric becomes almost see-through, revealing a collection of dark ink scattered all over Harry's body. Louis spots a large butterfly and two birds on Harry's chest and nearly drops their beer, want surging through him got and heavily. God, he wants, wants so much. Wants to map out every inch of Harry's skin with his mouth, wants to trace the line of Harry's tattoos with his tongue, wants to kiss Harry's milky skin and leave angry red bruises all over it. Fuck, Louis thinks bitterly as he approaches Harry and plasters a smile across his face, I'm so fucked.  
"Thank you," Harry mouths, beaming at Louis with the power of a hundred suns. Louis just smiles in return, unable to come of with an answer so he just tips his head back and takes a sip of his beer.  
More and more people keep arriving, pushing them closer to the front and closer together, and at some point Louis finds himself pressed to Harry's side, standing slightly behind him. Turning around Harry looks down at him, his eyes widening in surprise when he sees just how close Louis is, their arms brushing. Harry's tongue darts out to lick a drop of beer off his bottom lip and Louis mind goes completely blank, his own tongue subconsciously mirroring Harry's movements.  
"Do you want to stand in front of me?" Harry offers quietly, his lips moving slowly, every word pronounced with such precision that Louis finds himself stuck on the movement of Harry's mouth.  
"What?" he mumbles dazedly, hazy eyes set on plump pink lips.  
"So you can see? I'm taller than you, you shouldn't be standing behind me." Harry explains gently, gazing down at Louis with soft wide eyes and Louis knows there are a few hundred people around them but somehow the world becomes nothing but Harry's face, nothing but the glimmer in his eyes.  
"Uh..." he stutters eloquently, fingers tightening around the bottle in his hands because Louis needs something to hold onto, to stop him from free falling for Harry. Harry seems to take his stuttered whisper as a confirmation, and suddenly there's a large hand on Louis' shoulder, pushing him around Harry's body's until he's standing in front of the other man.  
Goosebumps rise all over Louis' skin, because he can feel Harry's breath on his neck, warm and even, hitting his exposed skin.  
The band is very good even though Louis has never heard of them, can't even remember their name because in all honesty he can't remember anything but Harry, who is pressed to Louis' pack in the crowd, his chest resting softly against Louis' shoulders. He can feel Harry's chest expand with every breath, can hear the soft puffs of air exhaled out of Harry's mouth and the deep roughness of his voice as he lowly sings along, and somehow it sounds more beautiful to Louis than every song ever composed.  
He completely blocks out the band and the people around them and focuses solely on Harry's solid warmth behind him, his strong body towering over Louis' but he doesn't feel cornered at all. Instead he feels safe, grounded even in a sea of people. About halfway through the concert Louis risks glance over his shoulder, and the coloured spotlights around them pale in comparison to the smile on Harry's face. He's glowing, eyes impossibly bright with unconcealed happiness as he sings along, sweaty curls stuck to his forehead and the side of his neck, and right there he's the most beautiful thing Louis has ever seen.  
[[Daughter - Tomorrow](http://youtu.be/3ogcogESkWA)]  
_Don't bring tomorrow  
'cause I already know  
I'll lose you_  
The lyrics ring through his mind, the singer's soft voice echoing through Louis' ears and he subtly presses closer into Harry, sadness tinting his smile because he knows that Harry will probably go back to being his distant self tomorrow. But right now they're safely locked away in a singing crowd and Harry is looking at him with bright lights reflected in his hair and a blinding smile on his face, and he doesn't move away as Louis keeps leaning backwards, further into him.

  
The night is cold when they step out of the venue and Harry wraps his jacket tighter around himself, but the thin fabric clearly doesn't provide much warmth as Harry keeps shivering. It's raining, too, icy drops falling heavily from the sky, and an idea comes to Louis' mind. He knows it's quite far to Harry's flat, knows that because he's dropped Harry off a few times, and Harry is freezing and it's late and Louis definitely has a death wish, so he blurts out, "do you want to stay at mine?"  
Harry's face falls, glowing eyes growing distant as he looks down at Louis and Louis just wants to smack himself, because could he have sounded any more suggestive?  
"No, not like that. Just, it's cold and raining and you're freezing and your flat is so far away. My flat is much closer," he reasons, trying to appear casual when in reality he's desperate to have Harry around for just a little while longer. Push tomorrow a little further away. Don't bring tomorrow 'cause I already know I'll lose you.  
"You sure that wouldn't be a problem?" Harry asks quietly, body still buzzing from the music and Louis stumbles over his own feet, because Harry isn't shooting the idea down. Harry is actually considering sleeping at his flat and Louis would've smashed straight to the ground if it weren't for Harry's long fingers wrapping around the sleeve of his coat, keeping him upright.  
"No, no problem at all. Liam's asleep anyway, he's got an early shift tomorrow - Liam is my flat mate by the way - and you could have my bed, it wouldn't be a problem at all. I changed the sheets like, two days ago, so..." Louis stops his mindless rambling to suck in a much needed breath of air, Harry's low chuckle ringing through the night and warming Louis from within.  
"Okay," Harry agrees after a moment of hesitation, and Louis takes another deep breath before leading the way to the nearest bus stop. Harry's hand remains curled into his sleeve.

They swipe their Oyster cards and hop on the almost empty bus, sliding into a row together, puffy clouds of air exhaled in quiet gasps every time their legs brush. They talk about the band for a while, agreeing that they're very good which makes Harry smile proudly, before falling into an easy silence, watching nocturnal London flash by outside the window, their legs pressed together.

Stretching, Louis snuggles deeper into the covers, still half asleep when he reaches for the nightstand to grab his phone. Only the nightstand isn't there and neither is his phone. Frowning in confusion he blinks his eyes open, looking around to realise that this is not his bedroom. Right, he's on the sofa, he remembers. Because Harry is sleeping in his bed. Yawning, he buries his face in the pillow, ready to go back to sleep when he suddenly shoots up into a sitting position, gasping.  
Because Harry is in his bed. Harry. Here. In his flat. In his bed, for goodness sake!  
Groaning, Louis runs his hands over his face, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He's not hungover but his mind is hazy, a different kind of hazy. It's not alcohol-induced, it's Harry-induced.  
Yesterday was good, he thinks with a smile on his face, lazily scratching his stomach as he thinks back to last night, to the way Harry had been pressed against him, to the way their legs brushed on the bus home. An uncontrollable smile spreads across Louis face because fuck, two months ago Harry didn't even speak to him and now he stayed the night. True, it's not like they did anything but Louis feels like it's a massive show of trust that Harry slept at his place, and his legs feel so weak at the thought that he nearly stumbles on his way to the bathroom. On his way back to the kitchen he passes his own bedroom, the one Harry's sleeping in. Is he still sleeping? Or is he awake and bored, waiting for Louis to wake up too? Is he even still there?  
The last question makes Louis' heart twitch in panic and, trying to be as quiet as possible, he pushes open the door to his bedroom. It's still dark in there, the curtains fully closed but there's just enough light for Louis to make out Harry's body, curled up in a tight ball, snuggled into the sheets - Louis' sheets. Louis' breath hitches at the sight. With a fluttering heart he carefully steps closer, his body moving almost against his will, hypnotised.  
[[Birdy - Tee shirt](http://youtu.be/fTASJroi1Gc)]  
Harry looks so small and fragile in the darkness, long limbs wrapped up tightly in the blanket. Shadows pool in the hollows of his cheeks, making his face look softer, plump lips parted gently. He's painfully soft, long lashes resting on top of his cheekbones, his eyes fluttering every now and then and Louis finds himself fascinated, absolutely awestruck by the boy in front of him.  
With a shaking hand he reaches out to push a stray curl off Harry's forehead, his touch carefully light so he doesn't disturb Harry but his entire body aches and he just needs this, needs to touch Harry like this, softly and reverently. Just once. Just to know what Harry's hair smells like and how smooth the skin of his cheeks is.  
What are you dreaming about?, Louis wonders distractedly, kneeling in front of the bed and watching Harry sleep, softly brushing his knuckles across Harry's cheeks. Is he dreaming about a world where he is special? Where he is loved?  
I think I could love you if you only let me, Louis thinks sadly, an almost inaudible sigh pushing past his lips. He drops his hand and watches Harry for a moment longer, takes in the slope of his nose and the curve of his lips, mapping out his features until he can quote Harry's face like some quote words. With a shake of his head he stands up and tiptoes out of the room, casting one last glance at Harry's sleeping form before gently closing the door behind him.

  
In the kitchen he fires up the coffee machine, a gift from Liam's mum when they first moved in, and opens the fridge, gnawing on his bottom lip as he looks through the food they have. Thank god Liam is a healthy eater, so Louis manages to find some fruit that he can use for the pancakes he intends to make. From all the cooking they do at Franklin's he knows Harry likes pancakes and bananas, and luckily enough they have both. Since Louis is absolutely useless in the kitchen he has to rely on a pre-made pancake mix but it's good stuff and will definitely taste ten times better than anything he'd whip up on his own. He even manages not to burn the pancakes and proudly stacks them on two plates, chopping a banana into slices and placing them around the pancakes. Cocking his head to the side he adds three more slices of banana on top of each stack, using two as the eyes and one as the nose, drawing a smiling mouth with maple syrup to finish his pancake smiley.  
With a proud grin he nods at his creation and sets the table, then goes to wake Harry.  
He doesn't get too far because Harry is already in the hallway, dressed in last nights jeans and shirt, the clothes rumpled and his eyes still sleepy, and Louis' breath gets stuck in his throat at the sight.  
"Good morning," Louis mumbles quietly, feeling like someone as delicately beautiful as Harry shouldn't be exposed to loud noises.  
"Hey," Harry drawls, his gruff morning voice sending a shiver down Louis' spine. He's eyeing Louis wearily, a part of the wall Louis had managed to break down last night built back up but he tries not to let it discourage him. Instead he offers Harry a warm smile and points to the kitchen.  
"I made breakfast." With a surprised hum Harry follows him to the kitchen, eyeing the table with wide eyes.  
"I made banana pancakes because I know you love bananas so much, so...yeah." Louis trails off, shrugging nervously because could he sound any more whipped? He runs a hand through his hair in a restless gesture, waiting for Harry to react.  
But Harry just keeps watching, eyes nervously swiping over Louis and the steaming cups of coffee to settle on the plate in front of him, a pancake smiley beaming up at him, and suddenly his eyes begin to water.  
"Harry..." Louis starts, worry shooting through him but Harry quickly pushes the plate away and steps back, sending Louis a panicked look through impossibly wide eyes.  
"I'm sorry, Louis, I... I have to go," he chokes out, his entire body trembling as he reaches for his jacket and shoes and storms through the front door, leaving Louis alone with his smiling pancakes.  
With his heart stuttering painfully Louis stands frozen, watching as the door falls shut with a loud thud. The smiley faces seem to be mocking him, seem to say 'you got ahead of yourself once again' and Louis drops his gaze to the floor, standing his his kitchen, lost and confused and so, so disappointed.  
Because just as Louis thought he was getting somewhere with Harry, Harry runs again. Sighing, Louis drops his head into his hands and begins to lose hope.

 

  
**...{to be continued}...**


	3. Take Care Of The Ones That You Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long wait but Uni is keeping me incredibly busy. Here are 14.2k words to hopefully make up for it x

"Well, hello there," Liam announces, eyebrows rising in surprise as he takes in the sight in his living room. He drops his heavy backpack to the floor and steps into the flat, throwing his dirty white overall into the laundry room on his way to the living room, concern flooding through him at the sight of Louis slumped over on the sofa with a half empty bottle of cheap red wine sitting dangerously close to the edge of the couch table.  
"Hellllo, Liam," Louis replies swiftly, waving at his best friend with robotic motions, eyes hazy and glazed. "How was work?"  
Instead of replying Liam grabs the bottle of wine and pushes it to the middle of the table, he doesn't want it to crash to the floor because cleaning up red wine is an absolute pain, as he knows from experience. He fixes Louis with a concerned stare and answers with a question of his own.  
"What's wrong, muffin?" He sits down on the sofa next to Louis and watches his friend's face fall, a frown taking over the fake smile.  
"Nothing," he declares, dragging out the 'n' in a drunken slur, "absolutely nothing. 'M just peachy." His words are dripping with sarcasm even in his drunken state and Liam can't help but be slightly amused at the sight of Louis reaching for the bottle only to realise Liam put it out of reach. He pouts and shoots Liam a murderous glare that has his best friend giggling quietly.  
"Bullshit, Lou. You're getting drunk on cheap wine and it's only 7pm, these are clear signs of an emergency."  
"God, you're such a doctor, Li," Louis groans, burying his face in one of the decorative pillows on the sofa.  
"I know, which is why I'm gonna fix you. Tell me, please?" Liam uses his honey sweet voice and gives Louis his best puppy eyes; they always work when he wants the last slice of pizza so maybe they'll work now as well?  
"There's nothing to tell," Louis insists stubbornly but he doesn't meet Liam's eyes.  
"Hmm, let's see. Baggy sweats, your favourite jumper with the holes in it, red wine and" - Liam looks around to spot an empty bag of crisps on the floor next to the sofa -"crisps. The symptoms are very clear, this is a severe case of moping, may even be incurable." Liam uses his 'doctor voice' as Louis calls it, when his voice gets deeper and he gets all serious, and Louis bursts into a fit of giggles, squirming to escape Liam's hands as they tickle his sides. He sighs, his giggles dying down, and sits up to face his friend, his hair standing away from his head in knotted spikes.  
"Harry stayed here last night but he left," he tells Liam in a small voice, discouragement seeping out of every pore in his body and Liam's heart sinks.  
"Wait, what? Come again, please."  
"Harry stayed here. Like, overnight," Louis explains again, focusing on producing words that actually make sense, his mind still hazy from the alcohol and the memory of Harry's panicked eyes. Seeing Liam's baffled face, he elaborates, "the venue last night was closer to our place and it was freezing so I convinced him to come back here instead of taking three night buses home. Nothing happened," he assures quickly, giving Liam a quick shake of his head. "And I, see, I let him sleep in my bed and woke up before him, so I thought why not make breakfast? You know I never make breakfast." Liam nods in understanding, his eyes widening because he knows from almost 20 years of experience that Louis does indeed not make breakfast, ever. He'll eat corn flakes with milk or steal whatever Liam cooks I'm the morning when he has time, but Louis almost never makes breakfast unless his little sisters come over. That's what the box of pre-made pancake batter they hide in one of their kitchen cabinets is for.  
"But I made breakfast - pancakes - and I even cut up some fruit and made coffee...." Louis sighs, rubbing the backs of his hands over his burning eyes. "And Harry just left." Louis' voice drops down to a whisper and Liam sighs, leaning over to wrap Louis up in his arms. He goes willingly, burying his face in Liam's chest, a position that is familiar to both of them.  
"I'm so sorry, Lou," Liam mumbles into Louis' hair, holding him tight.  
"I even made smileys out of syrup and banana slices."  
"Oh, Lou," Liam drawls, his heart aching with how discouraged and disappointed Louis sounds.  
"We had such a good time at the concert and also on the way home, but the next morning he just left." Louis' words are muffled by the fabric of Liam's shirt but the desperation is clear in them, and Liam feels anger rising inside him, because Louis clearly put a lot of effort into this and was so happy that he finally got through to Harry, and then Harry left. Liam's protective side kicks in, even though he's younger than Louis, and he has to swallow his anger before speaking again.  
"Did he say why he left?" Louis shakes his head, his hair tickling Liam's face.  
"No. But he... he walked into the kitchen and then almost looked like he was going to cry, then stammered some nonsense about having to leave and basically ran out of the door. Am I that horrible, Li?"  
"What?" Liam gasps, pulling Louis away from him by his shoulders so he can look down at him with wide eyes, shaking his head wildly. "Lou, no. What you did was so sweet, it wasn't your fault at all that Harry couldn't appreciate it."  
Louis contemplates Liam's words for a moment, bottom lip bitten between his teeth, then nods slowly.  
"I think I came on too strong, maybe? I didn't want to corner him, I only meant well but I think it was too much for him."  
"Breakfast is too much for him?" Liam asks in disbelief, scoffing slightly and Louis narrows his eyes, looking up at Liam sharply.  
"He's fragile, Li." Louis warns him and Liam raises his hands in surrender, nodding obediently.  
"Okay, I'm just saying. You can't let him get away with everything just because he's fragile."  
"I know. But..." Louis doesn't finish his sentence but Liam knows exactly what he means. Sometimes you just can't help it, you let people hurt you and leave you if that's what they need to do, because they mean so much to you and there is nothing you can do but watch them go.  
Louis reaches forward for the bottle and then cuddles back into Liam, and as if he can read his thoughts he asks, "what's going on with you and Soph? You talked to her before work today, didn't you?"  
When Liam doesn't say anything for a while Louis looks up at him and, seeing the look on Liam's face, wordlessly hands him the bottle. Liam takes it with a snuffled laugh and takes a large sip, Louis tightening his hold on Liam's waist.  
"She's leaving," Liam gasps, swallowing more wine and pressing his fist to his trembling lips. "We talked it through and she's going to the States. It's an amazing opportunity for her, but fuck, I don't want her to be away from me for so long. I'll spend next weekend with her, we're going to visit her parents up in Manchester because we want to spend as much time together as we can before she leaves. How am I going to make it through an entire year without her?" Liam whines, his voice breaking, eyes watering. Louis sits up and shakes his head at him, his unfocused eyes sympathetic but strong.  
"Nope," Louis exclaims, drunkenly pressing a finger against Liam's wine stained lips, "you're not gonna cry. I'm not gonna cry. We're gonna drink wine and man up."  
Liam laughs wetly, his small giggles turning into full belly laughs until they're both crying after all, but it's not from sadness. Liam cuddles around Louis and takes another swig of wine, his chest still heaving with last bursts of laughter, and Louis thinks that as long as he has Liam, all is going to be fine somehow.

 

 

-

 

 

He barely ever sees Harry for the week, it's almost as if Harry purposely avoids him. He's always already gone when Louis comes in to take over his shifts and Louis' heart sinks a little more with every day that passes without any interaction with Harry.

He finally has shift with Harry on Friday and he nearly throws up in the car on his way to Franklin's, nerves and dread flooding his stomach. It doesn't help that Friday afternoon traffic is an absolute bitch, and by the time he finally arrives at Franklin's at shortly past 2 he's a shaking, sweaty mess despite the freezing temperatures outside.  
Harry's coat is hanging inside, the sight so familiar by now that it makes Louis shiver, and he purposely hangs up his own coat at the very other end of the rack, putting as much space between him and Harry a he can, at least physically. Metaphorically.  
He takes a few deep, calming breaths, willing his heart to calm down and his hands to stop trembling before heading upstairs, trying to brace himself for seeing Harry. He doesn't quite know what to expect, now that Harry can't possibly avoid him. They will have to interact, and he's not sure what Harry is going to do. Will he ignore Louis again, go back to his distant self? Or will he pretend to be chipper and happy? Louis can't quite decide what would be worse. But then, when has he ever pretended with me, Louis thinks bitterly, snorting in frustration. Whatever is going to happen he will find out soon, and with a determined nod he heads upstairs, shoulders tight and hands still trembling.  
The kitchen is empty, Harry nowhere to be seen, and Louis greets Samantha, one of the older girls, with a confused frown because they usually always start their shifts in the kitchen to talk about what they have to do for the day. Checking his watch Louis realises he's only two minutes late, surely Harry would wait for two minutes wouldn't he?  
He would, Louis thinks bitterly, sadness spreading through his body like a morphine that numbs his body against the pain of having to see Harry again, if he wanted to. He would for anyone else. Not for me.  
Sighing, he heads out the door and towards Anna's room to check how her arm is doing. Her cast is off and she smiles brightly up at Louis, grinning broadly when he praises her for being so strong.  
"Have you seen Harry, love?" he asks quietly, aiming for nonchalance but missing by a long shot. Thankfully the young girl doesn't read too much into it and just nods, cuddling back into her blanket.  
"Was in the garden earlier, said he needed fresh air but would be back soon." Definitely avoiding me, then, Louis bites his lip into his mouth and nods sharply, trying to clear his head.  
"Okay, I'll go looking for him then. See you later, flower." He presses a soft kiss to the girl's forehead and tucks the sheets tighter around her before standing up and heading towards the living room in search of Harry.  
He doesn't have to search for long because he finds Harry curled up on the sofa with a few of the boys, watching a rerun of Captain America. He's cuddled into a blanket, skin ghostly pale, soft lavender circles under his eyes, lips chapped. Worry shoots through Louis at the sight, because Harry doesn't look good at all. His hand reaching out for the remote is trembling slightly, and all thoughts of being mad at Harry fade away as worry clouds Louis' mind. He throws all caution into the wind and saunters over to the sofa, leaning over the back of it and waving half-heartedly at the boys when they greet him. They're too focused on the film to notice Louis cold greeting anyway, and Louis is too focused on Harry to care. He looks up at Louis, eyebrows shooting up in surprise at his sudden appearance, green eyes hazy and dull but with a hint of fear in them. The same fear that Louis feels, because the last time they saw each other Harry just left and Louis honestly doesn't quite know what to do.  
"Harry?" he whispers softly, just a breath of air in the room because Harry looks so fragile, even more so than usual, that Louis doesn't dare speak louder. "Are you okay?"  
Frowning in confusion, Harry nods. He looks taken aback, as if he had expected a different reaction from Louis, but how can Louis be mad at him when Harry looks like he might crumble any second? Harry bites his lip hesitantly, watching Louis with caution in his eyes as if he's still waiting for him to burst with anger, then carefully opens his mouth to speak but no words come out. Instead his long body seizes inwards as a cough rattles through his lungs, Harry lifting his hand to cover his mouth as cough after cough shakes his body, and Louis' heart sinks. Harry moves to sit up but Louis reaches out, softly placing a hand on his shoulder to push him back down. Harry doesn't object, just goes willingly and blinks up at Louis, eyes nervously calculating.  
"Yeah," he croaks nasally and sniffs, his nose angrily red. It's unfairly adorable. "I'm okay." Snorting, Louis rolls his eyes at the blatant lie and Harry blushes, pretending to suddenly be very interested in the film.  
"Right, Styles. I'm gonna get you a cup of tea." Without waiting for Harry's reply he walks back to the kitchen, chatting with Samantha while he prepares a cup of tea for Harry. It's scary, really, how whipped he is. Maybe Niall wasn't that far off with his soft cheese theory, after all. Louis should be mad at Harry, should demand an explanation for what happened on that Sunday morning, should finally take the hint that Harry clearly doesn't want his affections but he can't. Louis just can't bring himself to do it, not when Harry is in front of him, shaking and coughing and clearly unwell. He should tell Harry to fuck off, should never speak to him again if that's what he really wants but somehow he can't. Louis can't stay away, and he knows it might end up painful for him, but that doesn't stop him from walking back into the living room with a steaming cup of tea, a pack of tissues and an orange.  
"For vitamins," he explains softly when he sees Harry's questioning look, blushing furiously because God, he's turning into such a Mum. Harry hums high in his throat, a surprised sound, and sits up, the blanket pooling in his lap. He reaches for the mug, a small smirk in place and Louis chuckles before Harry can even speak up.  
"I know, I know," he grins, holding up his hands in defeat. "I really am making a habit out of getting you drinks." Harry's face softens as he blinks at Louis, a small, shy smile blooming on his lips and Louis' heart somersaults, because they finish each other's thoughts now. Holy hell. In lieu of an answer Harry takes a sip of his tea, sighing in content when the warm liquid slides down his sore throat.  
"Thank you," he mumbles shyly, shifting into a more comfortable position, and his feet peek out under the woollen blanket. Grinning softly, Louis shakes his head at the purple fuzzy socks on Harry's feet, pulled high over his jeans, and focuses on the way a light rosy blush spreads across Harry's cheeks, bringing some colour to his lifeless face. Harry doesn't meet his eye, but there's a thankful smile on his face and confusion in the frown of his brows, and Louis knows Harry is just as lost as he is.

 

He watches Harry for the rest of the day, sees him shake weakly when he stands up for too long, notices the way he rubs his temples as if to get rid of a headache, and steadily supplies him with tissues and tea. He refuses to let Harry do any work except for watching TV and helping with some school work, which means Louis ends up folding all the towels and bedsheets himself and re-organises the kitchen cabinets on his own (well, he has the help of two 9 year old girls but really, they're not much help at all), but he finds he doesn't mind quite that much. If Liam could see me now, he snorts at the thought and puts a can of tinned tomatoes on the assigned self. Standing in a kitchen with a bunch of kids running around him and a sick coworker that he supplies with tea and probably, maybe has a crush on napping on the sofa. What a life.

 

When their shift is about to end Harry looks like he's half asleep, lids drooping as he sways on his feet, skin so pale. He leans against one of the pillars in the foyer for support and runs a hand through his hair, the curls falling softly over his shoulders. Louis finds himself watching in trance, white smooth skin and lavender veins contrasting starkly with warm chocolate hair.  
"Harry?" Louis calls quietly when they're alone in the foyer and Harry looks up immediately, almost as if he expected Louis to call for him. He meets Louis gaze with weary eyes, the shadows underneath them intensified by the dim light falling through the tall windows.  
"Yeah?" he whispers back, voice wrecked and echoing through the almost empty room, sending a shiver down Louis' spine. Taking a deep breath, Louis gathers all his courage before stepping closer, and closer until he can almost touch Harry. Blinking up at the much taller man Louis reaches out to place a gentle hand on Harry's forearm, his fingers curling into the fabric of Harry's jumper. Harry watches him with wide eyes, feet shuffling as they go pigeon-toed, his chest rising and falling steadily but maybe a bit faster than normal.  
"Let me take care of you." Louis breathes into the small distance between them, holding his breath when Harry doesn't respond, just stares down at Louis with an unreadable expression on his face, hands trembling by his sides. His lips part, but no words come out. "Please?" The silent plea seems to shake Harry out of his haze and he hastily steps back, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts, brows furrowed as he stares down at Louis in confusion.  
"It's the weekend, I'm sure you have better plans," he dismisses bitterly, turning around to grab his coat and Louis should probably let him go, but there's a hint of insecurity in Harry's voice, a slight tremor that makes Louis feel like he doesn't mean what he says. He just has to try again.  
"My roommate is out of town with his girlfriend, I had a few days of laundry, instant food and bad movies planned," he counters, stepping up behind Harry to grab his own coat and Harry cringes, shooting Louis a dark glare at the mention of instant food. Louis shrugs helplessly, sending Harry a small, apologetic smile as if to say 'you know how useless I am in the kitchen' and Harry's face softens, his nose scrunching up adorably as he chuckles nasally, the tip of it angrily red. Another cough rattles through his lungs and Louis flinches at the sound, his own throat hurting just from imagining how Harry's must feel.  
"We need to get this out of your system asap, can't have you miss at work. Everyone would starve," he decides, placing a hand on Harry's back and pushing him towards the door, pretending like his skin doesn't positively burn where it touches Harry's body. Pretends like his heart doesn't threaten to jump out of his chest at the mere thought of spending time with Harry. But Harry still hesitates, looks down at the wet gravel crunching underneath their feet, thick raindrops landing on his hair and clinging to his lashes.  
"Trust me, Harry. Please," Louis whispers, honest desperation seeping into the words because he needs Harry to say yes, needs to have this one little encouragement, this little sign that he's not going completely insane. That he's not misreading Harry completely. Harry looks up in surprise, eyes trained intently on Louis' pleading ones and he stumbles over a rock, ever so clumsy when he doesn't pay attention to where he's going. Louis is there to catch him, of course he is; wrapping a steadying hand around Harry's arm and pulling him upright, keeping him from falling. It feels more fundamental than it probably should.  
They look at each other for a moment, icy rain drops falling down around them and soaking them to their bones but they don't seem to care. Well, Louis doesn't care, because Harry is looking at him with those damn green eyes and it's enough to keep him warm. He's searching Louis' face, for what Louis doesn't quite know, but Harry's eyes are exploring, taking in every inch of Louis' face as if he's a book that holds the answer to every single question if only he reads between the lines, and Louis can feel his heart beating rapidly, warmth spreading through his entire body. His hand is still wrapped around Harry's arm.  
"Okay," Harry whispers, the single word almost getting lost in the breeze around them but Louis hears it. "Okay."

 

  
Louis deposits Harry on the sofa and heads to his bedroom to get changed into more comfortable and most importantly dry clothes. He also picks out a pair of sweats from Liam, knowing that Harry's endless legs would never fit into anything he owns, and a hoodie from himself and heads back into the living room where Harry is still sitting on the sofa, fiddling awkwardly with his phone. He looks up when Louis enters and sends him a small smile, which Louis returns with full force.  
"I got you some dry clothes to change into, yours are all wet. You can take a shower too, if you want to. You, uh, know where the bathroom is." Nodding silently, Harry takes the stack of clothes from him, carefully making sure that their fingers don't touch and Louis sighs as soon as Harry is out of earshot, disappointment swirling through his body. But at least he's here, Louis reminds himself, clinging to that sliver of hope. He's here.  
Harry comes back not long after that, he clearly didn't take a shower, but Louis has no time to be upset about it because Jesus. He picked one of his favourite jumpers for Harry, a soft lilac one made of thick, silky material that is way too large on him, knowing that Harry likes his jumpers to be quite big too. It's still too big even on Harry, covering his hands and hanging off his broad shoulders, making him look so fragile and small despite his height that Louis has to bite his tongue to not bark out how damn beautiful Harry is.  
Instead he opts for a hopefully casual smile, tilting his head to the side. "Let's get you back on the sofa, yeah?" Harry follows him wordlessly, shoulders hanging low like a scolded puppy that tries to make itself appear smaller, but as he turns around Louis can see out of the corner of his eyes that Harry lifts one of his hands to his face, sniffing on the fabric of the jumper, a small smile on his face. It makes Louis' insides somersault. Harry gingerly sits down on the sofa, hands folded in his lap, and doesn't meet Louis' eye. Instead he focuses on the pictures on the wall over the TV, the faces of four beautiful young girls smiling back at him. He raises one eyebrow in question and Louis supplies, "my sisters" with an edge to his voice, because talking about his family to Harry still feels strange to him. He doesn't want to make Harry sad.  
"They're pretty," Harry observes quietly, a small smile flicking across his features when he spots a picture of Louis with makeup on, lipstick smeared over his cheeks, hair sticking away from his head in tiny little braids, the twins smiling proudly next to him.  
"They're little devils, that's what they are." Louis argues fondly, grinning at the memories. The twins had turned 12 that day and Lottie, their oldest sister, had given them a makeup kit which they promptly wanted to try out - on Louis, because why not.  
"Do you just want to sit there and stare at the wall for the rest of the evening or do you actually want to lie down and take a nap?" Louis teases, a small smirk in place as he watches Harry blush and snap his gaze away from the pictures.  
"Sorry." he murmurs, eyes now cast down at the ground and Louis' heart clenches, because he doesn't want Harry to be this insecure around him, wants Harry to be comfortable, open. So he kneels down next to the sofa and blinks up into striking green eyes that watch him in alarm, and reaches out to tug the blanket off the cushions.  
"Hey, no. No need to be sorry, I just want you to be comfortable, yeah? A good nap on the sofa always helps me when I'm sick." Slowly, with his bottom lip bitten into his mouth, Harry lies down, curls up into a tight ball and sweeps his hair up into a bun when it falls into his face. He places one hand under his head, cheek resting in his palm, and blinks languidly, green eyes wide as they blink into Louis'. They're face to face now, so close that Louis can see every single lash framing Harry's eyes, can see the hint of stubble on his cheeks, Harry's chapped lips so close that Louis forgets how to breathe. He involuntarily licks his own lips, tongue darting out to swipe across his own mouth as Harry just looks at him, blinks slowing and lips parting, turning Louis' insides into liquid.  
"Let's see how your cure works for me, then," he whispers into the small space between them, voice rough as it jerks Louis out of his reverie.  
"Yeah," he mumbles, startled, and moves to stand up, knees wobbling. He carefully places the woollen blanket over Harry's body, fondness curling through his veins at the sight of Harry's long body all curled up into a tight little ball.  
"I'll make you tea, yeah?" That earns him a smile, a dimple popping in Harry's left cheek and Louis' mind goes into overdrive.  
"As always," Harry drawls, nasal voice getting deeper and slower as he snuggles into the blanket. A stray curl pops out of his bun and falls across his forehead, and Louis gently reaches out to brush it away from Harry's face.  
"As always." He breathes the word into the tense silence between them, then spins on his heel and flees into the kitchen, heart hammering inside his chest because fuck. He just touched Harry, brushed his hair back, and Harry didn't recoil. Didn't even flinch.  
What does that mean? Does it even mean anything? Louis can't help but wonder as he makes tea and soup, a special recipe from his Mum that she always made when her kids were ill. He almost doesn't want to believe that it means anything, because if it does... What is Harry so afraid of? Has Louis ever given him any reason to mistrust him? Why does he keep this wall built up around him, trying to keep Louis at bay? It doesn't make any sense, the way the things he says contrast so strikingly with his actions. The blushing, the soft smiles and long stares, yet Harry refuses to even talk to Louis sometimes. It doesn't make any fucking sense to Louis, and he walks back into the living room with tea, soup and a mess of unfinished thoughts.  
"This is the only thing I can cook... Years of experience with ill little sis...." he trails off, the words getting stuck in his suddenly dry throat. Louis stops dead in his tracks, a shock of electricity running through his body at the mere sight in front of him. Warmth spreads through him, the skin on his neck prickling with heat, a gentle smile smoothing over his face as he carefully kneels down next to the sofa.  
Harry's wrapped up in the blanket and fast asleep, nose puffy and plump lips slightly parted, tiny snores falling from them every now and then. A slow smile spreads across Louis' face, a disbelieving giggle falling from his lips because God, is this really happening? He studies Harry's features for a while longer, takes in the slow rising and falling of his chest and the matching movement of his lips, and he shakes his head in pure disbelief because Harry is so incredibly gorgeous. So beautiful, even with chapped lips and a runny nose he's the most strikingly wonderful thing Louis has ever seen, and it makes his heart ache.  
With a sigh, Louis pushes himself up into a standing position and puts the tea and soup down on the table, then leans over to brush the same pesky curl away from Harry's forehead. He doesn't let himself linger, no matter how much he wants to touch Harry, he knows he can't. Not without Harry's permission, and right now Harry is ill and needs to be taken care of, so that's exactly what Louis is going to do. He mutes the TV and tightens the blankets around Harry's body, pulling them a bit higher to fully cover his shoulders. He should probably wake Harry so he can eat his soup, but he looks so peaceful and young that Louis can't bring himself to. Besides, he made enough soup for several servings, so Harry can always have some when he wakes up. Louis stands in front of the sofa for a while longer, looking down at Harry's sleeping form and something heavy settles into his stomach, something inevitable. He doesn't quite know what it is, but it has his breath come out in shaky exhales and makes him forget what to do with his hands.  
Shaking his head, Louis tries to shake himself out of his stupor. He grabs the bowl of soup and the book he left on the couch table yesterday and snuggles into the arm chair, slurping soup and trying to read. It's useless, though, because no matter how much he tries to focus on the basics of psychiatry, it can't quite keep his interest piqued. Not when his focus keeps shifting off towards the person curled up on his sofa, as if every second he doesn't look at Harry all soft and sleepy is a second wasted. Louis doesn't want to miss a single thing, even the soft twitch of Harry's fingers and the fluttering of his eyelashes seems so monumental to Louis that Freud has to wait for a while longer.

 

"You have glasses?" A raspy, sleepy nasal voice breaks the silence in the room and Louis startles into a sitting position, the book falling from his lap and landing on the carpet with a soft thud. He turns his head to see Hardy blinking up at him with tired, small eyes, crinkling at the corners. His hair is a mess, most of the curls having escaped his bun in his sleep, and there are streaks on his left cheek from the pillow. Louis opens his mouth as if to speak but no words come out, his mind completely blank. At this very moment, he doesn't quite remember the concept of glasses and what they mean, forgets all about reading and vision because God, yes, Harry is a vision. All rumpled and sleepily confused, soft edges, the walls he normally has built up around him momentarily crumbled.  
"Uh, yeah," Louis manages after an embarrassingly long moment of staring, his voice coming out as a croak so he awkwardly clears his throat. "Just for reading and stuff."  
"They look cute on you." Harry freezes, like he didn't mean to say that out loud, hands stilling in his lap where they were fumbling with the blanket, and Louis freezes too, body going completely still and mind going in overdrive.  
"I... I made you soup, but you were asleep so I ate it," he stutters, desperate to take his mind off the fact that Harry just said he's cute, desperate to change the topic before his heart decides to just give up altogether.  
Harry smiles slowly, lips lifting at the corners and Louis rushes to assure, "but there's more! I'll get you a bowl." Without waiting for Harry to reply he scrambles up from the armchair and nearly trips over his book as he rushes out of room, his mind swimming with confusion because Harry said he's cute. Harry fucking Styles just said Louis' glasses look cute on him. And Louis doesn't know what to think.

 

Harry devours the soup in record time, huffing little appreciating noises in between his sips and Louis watches him fondly, pride curling inside his stomach because Harry seems to like his soup so much.  
They settle down to watch TV after Harry helped wash the dishes - Louis tried to make him stay on the sofa but Harry refused and followed him into the kitchen to help - and Louis watches Harry more than the TV, which normally never happens when Gordon Ramsay is involved. But tonight, not even the funniest episode of Kitchen Nightmares can keep Louis' attention focused on the flatscreen Liam bought a year ago. Harry's too fascinating, lips curling upwards whenever Gordon makes a funny remark, his eyes crinkling at the sides every time he smiles and closing down to little slits when he laughs. It makes Louis' heart clench, that laugh.  
But Louis can tell Harry is getting tired, his lids drooping and the smiles getting rarer, overpowered by little yawns he tries to hide behind the blanket pulled up to his neck. Grinning softly, Louis walks over to the sofa and kneels down next to Harry's head, the other man blinking up at him with small, sleepy eyes.  
"Let's go to bed, yeah? You're tired." Frowning, Harry sits up abruptly, eyes focused on the floor as he coughs into his fist, the sound rattling through his chest so loudly that Louis flinches.  
"You don't..." Harry starts, eyes snapping up to meet Louis' for a split second, "I can go home, Louis. You don't have to do this."  
"But I want to." The simple, honest statement makes Harry flinch, his eyes widening as he looks up at Louis, green eyes blazing. With what, Louis isn't quite sure, because Harry's walls are back up but they're not pure brick anymore. There's layers of glass here and there, like small little windows, cracks in the facade that allow Louis to catch a glimpse of what Harry is thinking, feeling. Panic, he realises, panic is definitely right there, darkening the green. Disbelief, too. Doubt. And maybe, if Louis isn't completely mistaken, there's a tiny glimmer of hope.  
Harry leans back against the sofa, baffled, his hands laying limply on his lap.  
"Why are you doing this?" he breathes, his breath hitching as he sucks in a large gulp of air. Frowning, Louis sits down on the sofa next to Harry, relief flooding through him when Harry doesn't recoil. Sadness shoots through him, making his eyes sag with sympathy because this simple but heartfelt, almost pleading question proves what Louis has suspected all along: Harry isn't used to people taking care of him, treating him well. He's not used to being special to someone, and Louis' heart clenches painfully at the thought.  
"Harry, I..." he starts, unsure how to explain what he's feeling without making Harry run again, without scaring him away, but Harry interrupts him anyway, deep voice breathy and hurried.  
"I was nothing but awful to you yet you take me here and make me tea and soup and take care of me and I..." Harry's voice rises in volume before he stops abruptly, running his hands over his face in frustration, and Louis recognises the look of panic in Harry's eyes as the same as last weekend, the same restless fearfulness in his eyes that Harry had just before he bolted. And Louis doesn't want him to run, not again.  
"Don't run again, Harry. Please don't run," he begs, an edge of desperation on his voice that he just can't hide and Harry drops his hands in surprise, gaping at him. But he's not running yet, is still sitting on Louis' sofa wrapped up in a blanket dressed in one of Louis' favourite sweaters, so Louis dares to go on. He takes a deep breath and fixes Harry with a calm stare, hiding his emotions behind a wall of his own.  
"I'm doing this because I don't want you to be sick. I like taking care of people and you're in massive need of some TLC." He sends Harry a small smile, the smile deepening when Harry laughs nervously.  
Staring down at his hands Harry fiddles with his fingers, shoulders sagging as he curls in on himself, as if trying to make himself appear smaller.  
"I'm sorry, I don't want to be ungrateful," Harry mumbles distractedly, eyes still focused on his hands. He nibbles on his bottom lip, teeth digging into the soft flesh, leaving it angrily red and swollen. "It's just.... I've never had someone do this for me, so I'm a bit out of my depth..." At that statement, Louis drags his eyes away from Harry's plump lips to meet his gaze, and Harry looks so uneasy and lost, body trembling underneath the blanket, that Louis. just. can't.  
Throwing all caution into the wind Louis crawls over to Harry and lies down behind him, squeezing himself between Harry's body and the back of the sofa. Harry freezes, but Louis wordlessly pulls him back into his body so he's safely cocooned around him, wrapped around Harry's much larger body.  
"What are you doing?" Harry's words are whispered into the tense air between them, falling from his lips in a disbelieving gasp.  
"Spooning you, duh. TLC, yeah? Just relax," Louis says with a smile, desperately trying to appear nonchalant, hoping that Harry can't feel the way his heart hammers so violently inside his ribcage that it shakes his entire body.  
"But..." Harry starts but Louis shakes his head, the movement of his body making Harry stop.  
"Trust me, Harry, please," Louis breathes the words into Harry's curls, a hint of vanilla shampoo hitting his nose and Louis inhales deeply, tightening his arms around Harry's waist. He squeezes his eyes closed, willing his breathing to calm down but the blood is racing through his veins and rushing through his ears, because if Harry rejects him now, that's it. Louis won't recover, he knows he won't. If Harry runs now, Louis will give up for good. So he waits, laying breathless with Harry in his arms, and slowly, so slowly Harry relaxes. His rigid back loosens, and, straightening his legs, Harry pulls the blanket tighter around him . He sighs, the soft sound barely audible in the small space between them but it's like a balm to Louis' heart, because Harry's not running. He's not.  
Harry doesn't reply but he obediently snuggles his head into the pillow, closes his eyes and falls asleep in within seconds. Maybe that's an answer on its own.

 

  
He runs the bottoms of his feet along the cool edge of the sofa, lips softly slapping together. Louis' hand tightens around something solid, warm, thumb running along smooth skin. Smiling softly, Louis slowly blinks his eyes open, an uncontrollable grin splitting his face in half. Harry's still asleep, his body curled up against Louis', head resting on Louis' chest. With a disbelieving shake of his head - because how the hell did he get here? How did this happen? - Louis carefully tightens his arms around Harry's waist, erasing all the distance between them.   
He gently runs the tips of his fingers down Harry's arm, sleep warm, tacky skin soft beneath Louis' fingertips, the light touch sending a tingle down Louis' spine. Looking down at where Harry rests on his chest Louis can count every single one of his lashes, resting softly on top of his cheekbones, his skin slightly flushed but so, so smooth.  
Dropping his head back into the pillow Louis lets out a quiet bark of laughter, willing his pulse to slow but it seems like his heart has other plans. It continues to stutter rapidly inside his chest, and his eyes can't seem to stay away from the beautiful boy sleeping on his chest, all soft angles and snuffled snores.  
A thin layer of sweat breaks out across Louis' neck, his skin tingling everywhere. His hand trembles softly against Harry's skin with the effort of keeping his touch feather light, their pulses fluttering together under Louis' fingertips.  
Louis lies in his blissful doze for a while until Harry begins to stir, his fingers twitching where they're tucked under Louis' arm. Harry's feet slide underneath the blanket, toes tucking between Louis' legs and Louis squeezes his eyes shut, overwhelmed. Having Harry in his arms, green eyes blinking sleepily as he struggles to wake - it's almost too much, too perfect. A pang of fear rushes through Louis, fear that Harry will bolt when he wakes up and destroy this perfect moment.  
"Morning," Harry rasps without moving, only lifting one of his hands to rub his eyes, the gruff sound of his voice sending a shiver down Louis' spine.  
"Good morning," he replies swiftly, a thick curl standing up from Harry's wild head of hair attracting his attention so he wraps it around his finger, watching the strand bounce back when he lightly pulls on it. "How are you feeling today?"  
"Better," Harry decides, voice still wrecked both from his cold and sleeping so he clears his throat. "Still a bit stuffy but my..." he trails off, his mouth stuck open as he glances up at Louis smiling down at him, bright blue eyes reduced to sleepy slits, the right side of his hair flat from where he slept on it and the left a wild mess of caramel strands. Louis smiles patiently, warmth shining out of his eyes even in his sleepy state.  
"Your?" Louis prompts gently, giggling softly when Harry still doesn't answer, his eyes roaming Louis' face as if he wants to take it all in, as if his face is a map and every inch of skin a treasure to discover. It makes Louis' stomach drop, the smile fading slowly as he returns Harry's stare, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, his mouth dry.  
The small movement seems to snap Harry out of his haze and he shakes his head at himself, curls flying wildly.  
"Never mind. I can, uh," Harry starts, licking his own lips before continuing, "I can make breakfast. You made dinner yesterday so, yeah. Breakfast. See you in a minute." Harry scrambles off the sofa, careful not to knee Louis in the stomach, and stumbles out of the room, his sweats baggy and jumper rumpled. He's still such a vision, with the early morning light dipping through the windows, shadows pooling in the dips of his collarbones and the hollows of his cheeks, that Louis can't do anything but drop his head back down on the pillow in defeat, watching Harry helplessly.  
Just before he walks through the door he looks back at Louis, still sprawled out across the sofa, catching him staring and a matching blush blooming across both of their cheeks.  
Louis stays on sofa for a little while longer, the warmth of both Harry and himself still lingering on the blanket. There's a giant smile on his face as he thinks back to the way Harry looked at him, almost with awe in his eyes. Something shifted between them yesterday, like some part of the wall Harry has built up around him has been torn down. Louis knows Harry needs time, knows he can't just walk in like a wrecking ball and smash the wall to the ground in one go, it would be too much for Harry. He's too fragile, needs the support of his walls to stand, needs to learn slowly how to stand on his own. But Louis also knows that if he has to, he'll remove the wall brick by brick, taking away stone after stone until Harry is bare in front of him, until he can see his true self.  
With a grin still on his face Louis heads to the kitchen, hearing Harry puttering around, pans and pots clattering and he can't help but think to himself that yeah, he could get used to this.

 

That evening, Harry insists to cook dinner as a thank you so they head out to the nearest Sainsbury's, and they return with bags full of food and herbs that Louis has never heard of but apparently needs in his life, at least that's what Harry says.  
It is worth it, though, when Harry cooks the most incredible chicken curry Louis has ever eaten outside of an Indian restaurant. They watch TV all afternoon and Harry dutifully drinks all the tea Louis makes for him, even though he good-naturedly rolls  his eyes at Louis when he hands him the third orange of the day, because he 'needs the vitamins to get better'. But the best thing is, not once does Harry panic. There are a few bashful glances and flinches, but for the most part Harry sits comfortably on Louis' sofa, chuckling at Louis' endless stream of comments on whatever TV show is running at that moment.  
When Harry leaves in the evening, London greeting them with crispy cold air and splatters of rain, Louis lets him go with a smile on his face and warmth in his heart, because yeah, things are good right now. Really good.

 

  
-

 

  
Swallowing, Louis tries to get rid of the lump forming in his throat. The door in front of him is made of solid, dark wood, just like all the other doors at Franklin's, yet it somehow seems insuperable.  
He knows the room behind the door is empty, no sheets on the simple wooden bed, the shelf and desk empty. He knows that because he coaxed the info out of Barbara with lots of tea and her favourite butterscotch biscuits, the ones that always make her weak.  
Under the pretence of asking about Franklin's history, he asked Barbara about some of the empty rooms in the house and Barbara had explained that they reduced the amount of children they keep here in order to provide a more familiar environment and work closer together with the kids. In the process, she mentioned that one of the empty rooms used to be Harry's when he lived at Franklin's, and after some more cunning prodding Louis found out which one it is exactly.  
So here he is, nothing but a door separating him from a part of Harry's childhood, and he can't bring himself to enter. He looks at the door handle as if it's poisonous, stays outside in the corridor just staring at the door, wondering if he should do this. Harry's off today, so it's not like he'll ever find out about this but it somehow still feels like he's intruding Harry's privacy.  
But he's hoping to find a hint, a revelation maybe, something that explains Harry's bipolar behaviour. Something that will give him a clue as to why Harry feels the way he feels. He's not quite sure how an empty room is supposed to give him any info, but he hopes that there'll be a hint of young Harry still in there, even if it's just in Louis' mind.

 

Taking a large breath, Louis slowly reaches out and pushes down the handle, his hand shaking against the cool metal. It takes an incredible amount of strength to push the door open, the lump in his throat swelling in size, making it harder to breathe. The door doesn't creak like Louis had expected it to.  
A streak of light falls through the window, the same tall window with the White frame that adorn the entire back of Franklin's, illuminating a strip of the dark wooden floor, making it burn in a bright copper. The bed is empty, as predicted, just a frame and a mattress, the emptiness of the shelf like a gaping hole that makes Louis' shiver. The air feels thick in here, heavy, and Louis can't breathe.  
He steps inside, a board creaking under the weight of his steps. Briefly he wonders if Harry got annoyed by it or simply accepted the creaky floor, if he ever sat on the windowsill to watch the other boys play football in the backyard, maybe with a book in his hand?  
Carefully, almost on his tiptoes, Louis moves further into the room, visions of a young boy with bright green eyes and wild curls sitting at the desk or sleeping softly on the bed fill his mind. Was Harry's skin always as soft as it is now? Or did he have an awkward pimple phase?  
Did he have pictures on the board hanging above the desk? Maybe of his friends, or family?  
Louis' weak knees carry him over to the bed and he sinks down onto it gratefully, the mattress firm underneath his weight, his heart heavy. Young Harry is almost too present still in the empty room, almost palpable and it affects Louis more than it should. This is where Harry spent his childhood, where he spent most of his life. This is where he woke up and went back to bed, where he did his homework and where he lived, day after day. A room like so many others in this house, for a child like so many others in his house. It hurts to think of Harry as just one kid out of many because to Louis, he's so much more, but he can see it now, can see why Harry doesn't feel special, why he feels like he's just one out of many, not worth any special attention and it's like a punch in the stomach.  
Gasping for air Louis looks around the room, wonders if Harry sometimes comes back here to sit on the bed like Louis does now, to think about his past. To think about who he is.  
Louis almost doesn't want Harry to go back in here because he doesn't want him to come to the wrong conclusions, because this room screams 'average'. And Harry is far from that.  
As he looks Louis' eyes zero in on an indentation in the light wooden bed frame, almost like a symbol was carved into it. It's in the very corner of the bed frame and would normally be hidden by the pillow or duvet, if there were any. Leaning in, Louis squints to focus on the words cut into the wood, recognising Harry's handwriting, the energetic loop of his 'e', and he nearly chokes on a breath of hair. Tears spring to his eyes, because right there, cut into the wood of Harry's childhood bed, are the words "please love me."

[[Coldplay - Fly On/O]](https://youtu.be/Ap-HeMIKi-c)

Louis flinches away from the words as if he'd been slapped, because this right there is the very proof he's been looking for. It all makes sense now, Harry's shy and panicked reactions when someone does something nice for him, him saying he's out of his depth when Louis treats him well. It all makes sense, because Harry doesn't feel loved. He feels like nobody ever loved him and it hurts, hurts, hurts. Louis wants nothing more than to wrap Harry up in a tight hug and prove to him that he's lovable, but he knows Harry needs time. Time and subtle encouragement, little signs of affection so he can warm up to the idea of being someone's special person.  
So despite wanting to get into his old rusty ford to rush to Harry's flat Louis remains frozen on the bed, hands gripping the mattress tightly to distract him from the ache in his heart, and cries. He cries for Harry, for young Harry who grew up in this room thinking nobody loved him, for today's Harry who still can't see how wonderful he is, and he also cries a little for himself, because Harry doesn't see him at all. He's all Louis sees, his warm heart and kind soul and sparkling eyes and gorgeous smile, but Harry just doesn't see him.

 

  
-

 

  
"Louis?" A hesitant but warm voice cuts through the air, soft compared to the icy rain falling around them. Louis spins around, his hands holding the hood of his jacket in place as a protection against the frozen liquid pouring down on him.  
"Yeah?" he breathes, the words coming out in a puffy cloud of warm air. Harry is standing in the doorway, hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat, his endless body wrapped up in black fabric that clings to the broad width of his shoulders and narrows at his waist, accentuating his long legs and slim hips. Louis has to send the designer of this coat a personal letter of thanks, really. His heart jumps lightly in his chest when Harry stares back at him, nibbling on his bottom lip in contemplation.  
"It's... It's raining," he states, deep voice wavering and Louis has to suppress a grin because yes, thank you Captain Obvious. But he doesn't say it out loud, just waits patiently for Harry to continue. Harry slowly steps closer, out into said rain, gravel crunching underneath his boots and Louis holds his breath, heart beating faster with every step Harry takes.  
"And the roads are icy," he continues, standing in front of Louis, looking down at him with wide, nervous eyes.  
"Yeah, probably," Louis agrees softly, and he wants nothing more than to close the distance between them to wrap his arms around Harry, to feel his warmth and solid weight as a reassurance. But he remains frozen in spot, wondering where Harry is going with this. Harry drops his gaze down to the floor for a moment, feet shuffling on the ground until they go pigeon toed, soft brown boots meeting at the tips.  
"Don't drive," Harry blurts, his eyes widening as if he can't quite believe he just said that out loud and he looks at Louis in terror, teeth digging into his bottom lip as if he wants to physically stop himself from saying more.  
Confused, Louis frowns, stating, "but I have to drive if I want to get home, Harry," and a fine blush spreads across Harry's cheeks, a soft peachy rosé that glows brightly in the smudgy grey rain around them.  
"Don't go home then," Harry whispers, the words almost getting lost in the sound of dripping water around them but Louis hears them, and his heart stutters madly inside his chest.  
"Harry..." he starts, reaching out to grab Harry's arm because the other man won't look at him, keeps his eyes set on the floor but Louis needs to see them, to figure out what all of this means. If it even means anything.  
"I don't want you to drive in this weather, Louis," Harry rushes to say, faster than Louis has ever heard him talk, turning his body away from Louis as the flush on his cheeks deepens, his arm slipping from Louis' grasp. "It's dangerous." And Harry stands there like a scolded puppy with his back turned to Louis, shoulders slumped, and the sight breaks something inside of Louis. Sighing, he gently reaches for Harry's arm again, wrapping his hand around Harry's elbow. He gently turns Harry around to face him, a warm smile on his face because holy hell, Harry is worried about him. He's worried about Louis driving home in the icy rain, and something heavy settles inside Louis' stomach that makes his heart clench with pure joy.  
"That's so sweet of you," Louis whispers softly, his smile turning into something gentler, more intimate. "But I have to get home somehow, and it takes ages with the tube." Harry nods seriously, dark green eyes boring intently into Louis' lighter ones, as he contemplates Louis' words. There's a frown on his face that causes a crease between his eyebrows, and he looks so stern, so concerned that Louis can't help but giggle quietly, joy and happiness bubbling through his veins because holy fuck, Harry really does care.  
Harry's face softens at the sound, the frown smoothing into a small smile, the corners of his lips barely tugged upwards.  
"Come back to mine then," Harry offers, and oh. What? Harry is offering...? Louis blinks in disbelief, once, twice, taking in Harry's flushed face and the wet hair clinging to his cheeks. He's trying to appear casual but Louis can see the panic in his eyes and the fear in the stiffness of his shoulders, and he knows this is a big deal for Harry.  
"We can take a train home and you could just leave your car here, you're off tomorrow and I have the late shift so we could come back here to collect your car in the morning and then you can drive home from here. You let me stay at your place last weekend, so... Please? I really don't want you to drive tonight." Harry's frantic voice quiets down to a whisper at the end, the last words a heartfelt plea that tugs at the strings of Louis' heart, his mind going into overdrive because Harry is offering to let him stay at his place. Harry is worried. It's too much, and Louis blanks out for a few seconds, just stares at Harry in disbelief because he'd almost given up on this, on Harry opening up. And now that it's happening Louis is so overwhelmed that he forgets to breathe.  
"Okay," is all he manages to say, voice too weak for anything else, his hand still wrapped around Harry's arm, the simple touch warming Louis' entire body.  
"Yeah?" Harry questions quietly, brows rising in surprise, mouth popping open. Louis nods, and a small smile spreads across Harry's lips, dimples popping and eyes brightening.  
"Yeah."

  
Harry's small little flat is a lot like Louis expected it to be - clean, neat, and incredibly inviting. There are flower paintings on the living room walls, actual flowers lining the windowsill in the kitchen, purple bath bombs and at least three different shampoos and conditioners in the shower. It's a warm place, full of clutter that somehow doesn't seem out of place at all, and Louis finds Harry in the most random items standing around. A book of Oscar Wilde quotes on the couch table. A butterfly magnet on the fridge. Strawberry lip balm. The entire place is so Harry that Louis feels like he's walking amongst the clouds when he steps inside, because Harry invited him here, to his own flat, his getaway. Louis knows that this is huge, can sense it in the slight tremor of Harry's hands, the edge to his voice, and his heart responds accordingly by beating violently. Just like it always does when Harry is around.  
They toe off their shoes and Louis hides his smile at Harry's purple and blue striped socks in the fabric of his jumper, pressing his face into his shoulder. These little things he's slowly learning about Harry shouldn't feel as important as they do, but he finds himself wanting to know every little detail about Harry, every quirk and habit.  
"Do you..." Harry starts but trails off, his hand brushing Louis' as he reaches for Louis' coat to put it on a hanger. Clearing his throat, Harry turns away to hang up his own coat before continuing. "Do you want anything to eat? It's quite late, but I can make you something if you're hungry." Smiling, Louis shakes his head at Harry and moves into the kitchen, trailing his fingers over the tiles on the wall.  
"No thanks, I'm good. I could just use a glass of water, but I can get that myself." Louis nods towards a row of glasses neatly lined up in one of Harry's kitchen cabinets and Harry nods, raising his hands to signal Louis that he can help himself.  
"I, uh, I'll just get you some clothes then." Harry walks towards the door but stops to turn back around, his eyes landing on a sliver of skin visible just above the waistband of Louis' jeans from where he's stretching to reach the glasses. Harry's throat clicks dryly as he swallows. "Any...any preferences?"  
"Preferences?" Louis looks at Harry from over his shoulder as he fills the glass with water, taking in his slightly flushed face and wild eyes.  
"Like, do you want a shirt or a jumper? Shorts? Sweats?"  
"Oh, that's what you mean." Louis takes a sip of water, leaving his lips shiny and wet and Harry loses his focus for a moment. "That depends, are we going straight to bed?"  
Harry chokes on nothing but thin air, eyes bulging as he coughs into his fist. Frowning, Louis watches him for a second before he realises what he just said, and oh. Well, yeah. Way to make it awkward, tommo. He mentally gives himself a sarcastic slap on the shoulder. His mood sinks, falls down to rock bottom in an instant because is it really that much of an appalling idea for Harry to sleep with him? Ouch.  
"Whatever you want," Harry manages to breathe, his voice raspy and thin. "And you get the bed, of course. I wouldn't let you sleep on the sofa."  
"Of course," Louis repeats quietly, nodding to himself bitterly before finishing his water. "Well, it's past 11pm and I'm pretty tired, so if you don't mind I'd like a t-shirt and some shorts so I can go to sleep."  
"Okay," Harry answers quietly, seeming taken aback by the snappiness of Louis' voice. He quietly walks out of the room, closing the door behind him with a soft thud.  
Sighing, Louis sets the glass down on the counter, a small clacking sound interrupting the silence in the flat. He takes a deep breath to compose himself, trying to get rid of the disappointment weighing him down. He can't expect too much too soon, can't get ahead of himself. He's here, in Harry's flat, because Harry doesn't want him to drive in this weather. Because Harry is clearly worried about him. Harry cares, and that's what Louis has to focus on right now.  
So he greets Harry with a small smile when he carefully shuffles back into the kitchen, dressed in a soft lilac jumper and grey sweats. He looks timid, shy almost as he looks down at the stack of folded clothes in his hands.  
"You -" he starts at the same time as Louis blurts out "I didn't -" and both both stop, a small smile flickering across Harry's face, Louis snickering quietly.  
"You go first," Louis offers, taking the clothes Harry holds out for him.  
"I was just going to say that you're smaller than me so the clothes will be a bit large on you, I hope you don't mind." Harry nervously nibbles on his bottom lip and watches as Louis unfolds the clothes he got him - an old pair of red and white Adidas shorts he hasn't worn since he was 20 and a simple grey t-shirt. Louis' eyes light up at the sight of the shorts, the bright blue sparkling with delight and Harry mentally pats himself on the back for remembering Louis' love for Adidas clothes. He mentioned it to Niall a few times when they talked footie and Harry overheard their conversation, pretending to be busy with cleaning or cooking, explained how winter annoys him because he can't wear his favourite Adidas shirts. He did wear a blue and turquoise Adidas jumper once, Harry remembers, that brought out the colour of his eyes beautifully.  
Realising that he completely zoned out he refocuses on Louis, just catching the end of the sentence.  
"... but I love loose clothes so these will be absolutely fine." Louis smiles warmly, the skin besides his eyes crinkling and Harry nods absentmindedly, watching the way the light is reflected off a strand of his caramel fringe.  
"No problem. What did you want to say?"  
"Oh, right." Louis smooths his hands across the shirt Harry gave him, his fingers tangling into the soft fabric. He looks down at his feet for a moment before meeting Harry's eyes again, hesitance shining out of them. "I, uh, didn't mean to snap at you. I just - I don't know what happened, but that was rude and I'm sorry." Surprised, Harry raises his brows, mouth popping open but no words come out. He doesn't know what to say, and the familiar tug of panic makes his stomach ache. Too good, he thinks resignedly, twisting his hands together in front of his body as he tries to come up with a reply. Too good for me. Louis is apologising again, he's being so sweet and understanding and it's unnerving, makes Harry feel unsettled because he doesn't understand what Louis is doing here, with someone like him.  
Louis patiently waits for Harry to say something, those damn blue eyes watching him with that gentle but bright openness, and when Harry still can't come up with a reply he simply shrugs and tightens his hands around the clothes.  
"I'll go put these on then, yeah? Bathroom that way?" He points to the door leading to the hallway and Harry nods, still dazed but he still follows Louis out of the room.  
"I'll just show you where you can find, like, stuff. You know, toothpaste and mouthwash and...yeah, stuff." Harry rambles, groaning internally at how awkward he is behaving, and runs a hand through his hair, pushing the unruly curls away from his face. He needs to be given some credit, though, because Louis is right here, standing in front of him, so close in the small space of Harry's tiny bathroom and the bright light makes his eyes sparkle and his skin look eerily soft, like smooth porcelain that doesn't have a single flaw.  
"Okay, thank you." Louis smiles up at him and grabs the spare toothbrush Harry hands him. He wets it and squirts some toothpaste onto it, then sits down on the edge of the tub and brushes his teeth. He doesn't seem to mind Harry still being there so Harry allows himself a few more seconds to gawk, because Louis is looking extremely good today, so small but still wiry in his tight fitting bordeaux jumper, his signature black jeans clinging to his legs. They're thick, Harry notices for the hundredths time, muscly and strong and Harry really needs to leave. With one last glance at Louis he steps out of the room and walks towards the kitchen. He tries not to think about the fact that Louis is in his flat, brushing his teeth in Harry's bathroom, possibly already wearing Harry's clothes. It's strange, having Louis here. Kind, beautiful Louis who somehow has so much patience with him despite the way he behaves like an idiot all the time. Louis, who somehow wiggled his way under Harry's skin with his sassy remarks and cerulean blue eyes, so much so that the mere thought of him driving in the icy rain made Harry shiver.  
It's an unsettling thought, and the glass of water Louis put on the counter earlier almost slips out of Harry's hand when he places it in the sink, the old familiar panic sweeping through his veins and making his hands tremble.

 

  
Louis presses the fabric of Harry's shirt against his nose and takes a deep breath, the sweet smell of vanilla mixed with washing powder and something he can only describe as Harry unfurling in his nostrils. It makes him hazy, makes him feel like his head is filled with cotton, or maybe candy floss. Marshmallows?  
Laughing softly at himself, Louis takes one last drag of Harry's smell before dropping the shirt so it falls over his stomach and opening the door. He checks his reflection in the mirror one last time, just to make sure that he has no toothpaste on his chin or moisturiser on his nose - Harry's shea butter moisturiser feels incredible, he might have to ask him where he got it from - and steps out into the hallway. The lights are dimmed, but he can still make out the shape of Harry's shoulders as he sits on the sofa, a blanket on his lap.  
"These clothes aren't even that big," he announces when he steps into the room, making a beeline for the sofa. Harry doesn't look up when he sinks down next to him, doesn't move at all and alarm bells go off in Louis' head.  
"Harry?" he whispers softly, reaching out to gently rub his hand over Harry's forearm and the other man flinches, wild eyes meeting Louis'. He abruptly shoots up from the sofa, a hand running through his wild hair in a nervous gesture, and begins to pace through the room, heavy footsteps echoing through the tense silence between them.  
Louis doesn't push Harry, just watches him quietly with growing worry and hopes that his silence will make Harry talk. It does eventually.  
"I'm sorry," Harry rasps with his back turned to Louis, shoulders slumped and head hanging low. It's not quite what Louis expected, but it's a start.  
"What for?" he queries gently, watching Harry's shoulders shudder.  
"For being so idiotic." Frowning, Louis stands up from the sofa and takes a step towards Harry, the other man's broad shoulders tensing when he hears Louis approach but he doesn't turn around.  
"What are you talking about? You're not being idiotic, at all." Louis states forcefully and Harry snorts, softly shaking his head.  
"I am. I have you here and I... I just don't know what to do. You're so good and I'm just a nobody and I have no idea why you're even here, why you bother with me at all and I just don't know what to do."

**[[Medicine - Daughter](https://youtu.be/sf6mkYz4mx0)] **

Louis' heart clenches painfully at the desperation in Harry's voice, and he closes the remaining distance between them with a few steps.  
With his eyes tightly closed he wraps his arms around Harry from behind and buries his face in the fabric of Harry's jumper, pressed between his shoulder blades. He holds him close, arms snaked around Harry's torso so tightly that he can feel his heavy breathing.  
Harry stands frozen, his arms hanging limply by his sides but he doesn't push Louis away.  
"I won't push you Harry, I promise I won't. If this is too much for you just tell me and I'll leave you alone, it's fine. I don't have to stay if you're not comfortable with it." He feels Harry take a deep breath, his ribcage expanding against Louis' arms. He stays quiet for the longest time, but the finally, finally there's a soft shake of his head, curls tickling Louis' face.  
"I don't want you to go." Louis wouldn't be able to hear the words if his ear wasn't pressed to Harry's back, but he hears them and somehow they're the most important thing he has ever heard in his life. It's a promise, the quiet admission, a promise that Harry will try. That he knows Louis understands.  
"Then I'll stay," he replies simply, because it really is that simple. If Harry wants him to stay, then he will.  
"Why are you so good to me?" The question is quiet but it rips Louis apart, tears him into two because this is the very core of Harry's problem. He doesn't think of himself as worthy of affection, and Louis knows that whatever he says next will make or break this, so he takes a deep breath and chooses his words carefully.  
"Because you deserve it."  
Louis expects a lot of things. He expects Harry to object, expects him to freeze and push him away. What he does not expect, however, is the sob that rips through Harry's body so violently that his shoulders tremble with the force of it. Harry's legs buckle and Louis tightens his grip on him, spins him around in his embrace as fear curses through him. He's met with blotchy cheeks and teary eyes, thick drops clinging to Harry's lashes as he squeezes his eyes shut, short, painful breaths exhaled out of his nose.  
"God, Harry, _no_ ," Louis breathes and pulls Harry closer, wraps his arms around him until all the space between them is erased. He holds Harry and holds onto him, tries to hold him together as violent sobs shake his body. It's beyond painful to watch Harry crumble like this, to watch him cry so hard he can barely breathe, and tears pool in Louis' own eyes at the sight in front of him. He tangles one of his hands into Harry's jumper and runs the other through his hair in soothing motions, his nose pressed against the column of Harry's neck, and let's Harry cry.  
Ever so slowly Harry's sobs begin to die down, his erratic breathing becoming more even. Louis doesn't dare let go of him just yet but he pulls away slightly to look up at him, taking in his tear stained cheeks and swollen eyes. Harry won't look at him, keeps looking down at his feet in embarrassment, but Louis simply reaches up and smooths his thumbs over Harry's wet cheeks, collecting the last few tears before they can fall.  
Surprised eyes meet his, wonder slowly replacing the desperation in them and Louis swallows harshly around the lump forming in his throat.  
"C'mon," he orders gently and reaches for Harry's hand, wraps his smaller one around Harry's palm and drags him along. Harry follows obediently, lets himself be let to his bedroom, too weak to put up a fight and maybe, just maybe, he doesn't even want to fight this.  
Inside the bedroom Louis pushes Harry down onto the bed and curls up next to him, both laying so they're facing each other, their heads resting on the same pillow. Louis doesn't say anything, just watches Harry with worry clouding his eyes, searching Harry's face for a clue, an explanation.  
"Nobody has ever said that to me," Harry admits eventually, his voice small and eyes squeezed shut.  
"It's true though." Harry doesn't comment, just rolls onto his back and opens his eyes to stare at the ceiling, large green eyes blinking slowly. **  
[[You Should Know Where I'm Coming From - Banks](https://youtu.be/BQDoIzNKVSY)]**

"I lost my parents when I was four," he begins, and Louis holds his breath because holy fuck. Harry is finally opening up. He remains frozen in place, just watches Harry's chest rise and fall in breaths too deep to be effortless, heart hammering inside his ribcage.  
"Car crash, I'll spare you the details because they're pretty gruesome. Both sets of grandparents had died even before that, I have an uncle but he's an alcoholic and lives in the States, he's not exactly adoption father material." Harry snorts softly, but there's wetness pooling in the corners of his eyes and he doesn't fool Louis for one second. "I don't really remember my parents at all, don't even know what they looked like apart from the handful of pictures I have of them. I got my hair from my Mum. Eyes, too." Harry smiles wistfully, a small smile that tugs at the strings of Louis' heart. Louis watches, entranced, eyes following the exact movement of Harry's lips, sweeping over Harry's face to his eyes, still staring at the ceiling. "She was a great cook, that's the one thing I do remember. That's why I love cooking so much, I suppose. It kind of feels like she's with me then. Like I'm less alone." Flinching at the bitterness in Harry's voice Louis wordlessly places one of his hands over Harry's that are resting on Harry's chest and squeezes, feeling the warmth of Harry's skin beneath his fingertips. It's a reassuring warmth. "I loved my time at Franklin's, don't get me wrong. They're great people working at a great place, and I think if it hadn't been for Franklin's I wouldn't be here today. But..." Harry takes a deep breath, their entwined hands rising on his torso. His voice is wrecked when he speaks up again, a fresh set of tears cascading down his cheeks and Louis squeezes his hands again to show him that he's not alone at all, not right now, in this very moment. Louis is right there with him, suffering with him, crying with him.  
"It's not enough. It has never quite been enough. I always wanted... Movie nights with my family, where you all cuddle up under the blankets and playfully fight over the popcorn. I wanted a Mum who made me sandwiches and kissed me goodbye every morning, a Dad who came home in the afternoon and played footie with me in the backyard. I just wanted to be someone's special person, you know? I just wanted to be someone's first choice, always. Not just one child out of 20. I just wanted to be special to someone, to be loved." Louis heart clenches painfully and he has to squeeze his eyes closed, hiding his pained face in the fabric of Harry's pillow. Harry's body shudders next to him, and Louis desperately thinks 'my god, I could love you, I could love you if you'd only let me' but he doesn't dare say it out loud, knows that Harry already revealed so much tonight that those words would for sure break him. So he just holds Harry tighter, slings his arm across Harry's chest and rolls onto his side so he's pressed against the length of Harry's body, his head resting on Harry's shoulder. Harry's curls are smooth against his cheek, Harry's shuddering breaths shaking both of their bodies. Louis continues to stroke his hand back and forth over Harry's stomach, hoping to bring him comfort until his breaths even out. When Louis looks up its to find Harry's eyes closed, his blotchy face relaxed, his lips parted in his sleep. Smiling softly, Louis pushes himself up until he's hovering over Harry, and reaches out to gently brush his hair away from his face. He presses a kiss to Harry's wet cheek and lowers himself back down, burying his face in the crook of Harry's neck and pressing whispered words into his damp skin.  
"You are special, Harry Styles. You are so, so special."

 

  
-

 

  
Barbara usually lives at Franklin's day and night and is there for the kids at night, but when she asks Louis if he'd be willing to do a night shift and cover for her because she wants to go out of town for her sisters 60th birthday, Louis immediately offers to stay. It's technically his day off but he still arrives at Franklin's at ten in the evening, just in time to replace the guys from the late shift. Dan is just packing up his things in the foyer and greets Louis with a friendly smile, wishing him a fun night. Louis groans playfully and punches his arm before shouldering his rucksack and making his way up into the kitchen. He runs into Niall on his way up, the Irish lad nearly running him over when he comes barrelling down the stairs, a skip to his step.  
"Done for today," he chirps gleefully then eyes Louis rucksack and grins. "Well, at least I am. Your fun is just starting." With a cheeky grin he pulls Louis in for a quick hug and presses a messy kiss to his cheek, Louis squeaking and trying to push his head away.  
"Get away from me, Irish!" he laughs, wiping his cheek.  
"Nah, you'll be the one kissing me in thanks tomorrow. I was supposed to stay here with you tonight but I organised a change of plans. Have a good night, mate." Before Louis can ask what the hell Niall is talking about Niall continues to rush down the stairs, sending him a wink over his shoulder and Louis frowns, then shrugs, watching Niall's blond hair disappear through the doors. Must be nice to be Irish, he thinks distractedly as he walks into the kitchen, maybe he should try this happy go lucky lifestyle too?  
He stops dead in his tracks when he enters the kitchen, because it's not empty like he expected it to be. Most of the kids are already in bed, except for a few of the older ones, but even they are usually in their rooms at this time of the night, watching TV or doing whatever, so he didn't expect anyone around. What he definitely didn't expect is Harry sitting at the kitchen table with an overnight bag on the floor next to him.

 

  
They sit on the sofa watching TV with a few feet between them, both of their glances focused awkwardly on the screen and it hurts, every inch of space between them. After being so close to Harry Louis wants nothing more than to curl up next to him again, but he doesn't know if he's allowed to. They didn't talk about Harry's breakdown, didn't mention it the next day when Louis woke up to Harry bringing him a full English breakfast in bed, and Louis has no clue where they stand right now.  
As the clock nears midnight he feels himself getting tired, tired of this stupid TV show and tired of having to stay away from Harry. It's so awkward like this, both of them hastily looking away whenever their eyes meet, and it tugs at Louis' nerves, makes him anxious. He fiddles with his fingers in his lap, his eyes wandering over to where Harry sits at the other end of the sofa. He's wearing one of his usual oversized jumpers and Louis' skin begins to tingle, because he now knows how these jumpers smell, knows how they feel pressed against his cheek, knows how warm and cozy they get during the night and he wants to feel it again. Wants to feel Harry's chest rise and fall underneath his head, wants to feel Harry's warmth against him like an old favourite blanket.  
"Oh, fuck this," he groans out loud and spins to face Harry, who immediately mirrors his movement, eyes widening in surprise. "Can we cuddle?" Louis blurts and feels himself blushing madly, his cheeks heating. Harry gasps, fish mouthing at Louis for a few seconds before he manages to compose himself.  
"You...what? I mean, yeah... If you, you know, want to..." Harry trails off, looking so taken aback and like a lost puppy that Louis can't help but giggle out loud.  
"C'mere, Styles," he pleads, opening his arms and Harry hesitates, of course he does, but eventually he shuffles across the sofa and sits down next to Louis. Wrapping his arms around Harry's waist in a gesture that is getting entirely too familiar Louis pulls Harry down with him until they're both laying flat, Louis curled around Harry's much larger body. His arm is resting across Harry's chest, and when he feels Harry's hand brush across his own his heart jumps wildly inside his chest. Their fingers tangle together, and despite the thoughts messing up his mind and the mess in his heart Louis falls asleep quickly, Harry's scent like a balm to his irritated nerves.

 

He wakes to something moving against him, and when Louis opens his eyes he notices Harry isn't laying in front of him anymore. Sitting up, he looks around the room in confusion before he remembers where he is. He spots Harry's broad frame in the doorway, kneeling down in front of a little girl. Emily is clutching her stuffed bunny in her hands, sniffing sounds reaching Louis' ears, and from Harry's soft murmurs Louis gathers that she had a bad dream. Harry kisses her tears away and wraps her up in a hug, balancing her on his hip as he walks over to the sofa with her in his arms. He sinks down onto the cushions without hesitation, sleepy eyes meeting Louis' and they share small, tired smiles, both of them not entirely awake. Harry leans back and pulls Emily to his chest then cuddles back into Louis, his back to Louis' chest. Louis reaches for the blanket and spreads it over the three of them, leaning forward to brush a kiss to Emily's cheek, and it feels.. I feels like something. Something important, maybe. Something solid.

 ****

 

{...to be continued...}


End file.
